fe^.o^^?97/yn 


^yiop^^/^  c/rayf/^//7 


•LITTLE  MEMOIRS- 

OF  THE 

NINETEENTH  CENTURY 

BY 

GEORGE    PASTON 


WITH   PORTRAITS   IN    PHOTOGRAVURE 


LONDON 

GRANT    RICHARDS 

E.    P.    DUTTON    AND   CO. 

NEW  YORK 

190S 


^^ 


•:^ 


Edinburgh :  T.  and  A.  Constable  (late)  Printers  to  Her  Majesty 


PREFACE 

For  these  sketches  of  minor  celebrities  of'  the  nineteenth 
century^  it  hcLS  been  my  aim  to  choose  sitbfects  whose  ex- 
periences seem  to  illustrate  the  life — more  especially  the 
literary  and  artistic  life — of  the  first  half  of  the  century ; 
and  who  of  late  years^  at  any  rate^  have  not  been  over- 
whelmed by  tlie  attentions  of  t fie  minor  biographer.  Having 
somejaith  in  the  theory  that  the  verdict  of  foreigners  is 
equivalent  to  that  of  contemporary  posterity,  I  have  in- 
cluded two  aliens  in  the  group,  A  visitor  to  our  shores^ 
whether  he  be  a  German  princeling  like  POckler-Muskau,  or 
a  gilded  democrat  like  N,  P,  Willis,  may  be  expected  to 
observe  ami  comment  upon  many  traits  of  national  life  and 
manners  that  would  escape  the  notice  of  a  native  chronicler. 
Whereas  certain  readers  of  a  former  volume — '•Little 
Memoirs  of  the  Eighteenth  Century ' — seem  to  have  been 
distressed  by  the  fact  that  the  majority  of  the  cliaracters 
died  in  the  nineteenth  century,  it  is  perhaps  meet  that  I 
should  apologise  for  the  chronology  of  this  present  volume, 
in  which  all  the  heroes  and  lieroines,  save  one,  were  bom 
in  the  last  quarter  of  the  eighteenth  century.  But  I 
would  venture  to  submit  that  a  man  is  iwt,  necessarily, 
the  child  of  tlw  century  in  xvhich  he  is  born,  or  of  that 
in  which  he  dies;  rather  is  he  the  child  of  the  century 
which  sees  the  finest  flower  of  his  achievement. 


^/y^^A^x  J* 


I 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 3 


LADY  MORGAN  (Sydn.v  Owenhon),  ....  96 

NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS, 159 

LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE, 17 

PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND,    .  .  .  «79 

WILLIAIkl  AND  MARY  HOWITT,  ....»« 


Vll 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON,       ....  Frontispiece 

LADY  MORGAN, paob  96 

NATHANIEL  PARSER  WILLIS ,.  159 

LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE  ON  HORSEBACK,  ^19 

LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE  IN  EASTERN  COSTUME,  „  241 

PRINCE  PUCKLERMUSKAU S7« 

MARY  HOWITT .386 


IX 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT   HAYDON 

PART   I 

If  it  be  true  that  the  most  important  ingredient  in  the 
composition  of  the  self-biographer  is  a  spirit  of  childlike 
vanity,  with  a  blend  of  unconscious  egoism,  few  men  have 
ever  been  better  equipped  than  Haydon  for  the  produc- 
tion of  a  successful  autobiography.  In  naive  simplicity 
of  temperament  he  has  only  been  surpassed  by  Pepys, 
in  fulness  of  self- revelation  by  Rousseau,  and  his  Memoirs 
are  not  unworthy  of  a  place  in  the  same  category  as  the 
Diary  and  the  Confessions,  From  the  larger  public,  the 
work  has  hardly  attracted  the  attention  it  deserves ;  it  is 
too  long,  too  minute,  too  heavily  weighted  with  technical 
details  and  statements  of  financial  embarrassments,  to  be 
widely  or  permanently  popular.  But  as  a  human  docu- 
ment, and  as  the  portrait  of  a  temperament,  its  value  can 
hardly  be  overestimated ;  while  as  a  tragedy  it  is  none 
the  less  tragic  because  it  contains  elements  of  the 
grotesque.  Haydon  set  out  with  the  laudable  intention 
of  writing  the  exact  truth  about  himself  and  his  career, 
holding  that  every  man  who  has  suffered  for  a  principle, 
and  who  has  been  unjustly  persecuted  and  oppressed, 
should  write  his  own  history,  and  set  his  own  case  before 
his  countrymen.  It  is  a  fortunate  accident  for  his  readers 
that  he  should  have  been  gifted  with  the  faculty  of 
picturesque  expression  and  an  exceptionally  keen  power 

3 


BENJAIMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

of  observation.  If  not  a  scholar,  he  was  a  man  of  wide 
reading,  of  deep  though  desultory  thinking,  and  a  good 
critic  where  the  work  of  others  was  concerned.  He  seems 
to  have  desired  to  conceal  nothing,  nor  to  set  down  aught 
in  malice ;  if  he  fell  into  mistakes  and  misrepresentations, 
these  were  the  result  of  unconscious  prejudice,  and  the 
exaggerative  tendency  of  a  brain  that,  if  not  actually 
warped,  trembled  on  the  border-line  of  sanity.  He  hoped 
that  his  mistakes  would  be  a  warning  to  others,  his 
successes  a  stimulus,  and  that  the  faithful  record  of  his 
struggles  and  aspirations  would  clear  his  memory  from 
the  aspersions  that  his  enemies  had  cast  upon  it. 

Haydon  was  born  at  Plymouth  on  January  26,  1786. 
He  was  the  lineal  descendant  of  an  ancient  Devonshire 
family,  the  Haydons  of  Cadhay,  who  had  been  ruined  by 
a  Chancery  suit  a  couple  of  generations  earlier,  and  had 
consequently  taken  a  step  downwards  in  the  social  scale. 
His  grandfather,  who  married  Mary  Baskerville,  a  descen- 
dant of  the  famous  printer,  set  up  as  a  bookseller  in 
Plymouth,  and,  dying  in  1773,  bequeathed  his  business  to 
his  son  Benjamin,  the  father  of  our  hero.  This  Benjamin, 
who  married  the  daughter  of  a  Devonshire  clergyman 
named  Cobley,  was  a  man  of  the  old-fashioned,  John  Bull 
type,  who  loved  his  Church  and  king,  believed  that 
England  was  the  only  great  country  in  the  world,  swore 
that  Napoleon  won  all  his  battles  by  bribery,  and 
would  have  knocked  down  any  man  who  dared  to  disagree 
with  him.  The  childhood  of  the  future  historical  painter 
was  a  picturesque  and  stirring  period,  filled  with  the 
echoes  of  revolution  and  the  rumours  of  wars.  The 
Sound  was  crowded  with  fighting  ships  preparing  for  sea, 
or  returning  battered  and  blackened,  with  wounded 
soldiers  on  board  and  captured  vessels  in  tow.  Plymouth 
4 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

itself  was  full  of  French  prisoners,  who  made  little 
models  of  guillotines  out  of  their  meat-bones,  and  sold 
them  to  the  children  for  the  then  fashionable  amusement 
of  '  cutting  off  Louis  xvi/s  head/ 

Benjamin  was  sent  to  the  local  grammar-school,  whose 
headmaster.  Dr.  Bidlake,  was  a  man  of  some  culture, 
though  not  a  deep  classic.  He  wrote  poetry,  encouraged 
his  pupils  to  draw,  and  took  them  for  country  excursions, 
with  a  view  to  fostering  their  love  of  nature.  Mr. 
Haydon,  though  he  was  proud  of  Benjamin''s  early 
attempts  at  drawing,  had  no  desire  that  he  should  be  turned 
into  an  artist,  and  becoming  alarmed  at  Dr.  Bidlake's 
dilettante  methods,  he  transferred  his  son  to  the  Plympton 
Grammar-school,  where  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had  been 
educated,  with  strict  inj  unctions  to  the  headmaster  that 
the  boy  was  on  no  account  to  have  drawing-lessons.  On 
leaving  school  at  sixteen,  Benjamin,  after,  a  few  months 
with  a  firm  of  accountants  at  Exeter,  was  bound  appren- 
tice to  his  father  for  seven  years,  and  it  was  then  that  his 
troubles  began. 

'  I  hated  day-books,  ledgers,  bill- books,  and  cash- 
books,'  he  tells  us.  '  I  hated  standing  behind  the  counter, 
and  insulted  the  customers ;  I  hated  the  town  and  all  the 
people  in  if  At  last,  after  a  quarrel  with  a  customer 
who  tried  to  drive  a  bargain,  this  proud  spirit  refused  to 
enter  the  sliop  again.  In  vain  his  father  pointed  out  to 
him  the  folly  of  letting  a  good  business  go  to  ruin,  of 
refusing  a  comfortable  independence — all  argument  was 
vain.  An  illness,  which  resulted  in  inflammation  of  the 
eyes,  put  a  stop  to  the  controversy  for  the  time  being; 
but  on  recovery,  with  his  sight  permanently  injured,  the 
boy  still  refused  to  work  out  his  articles,  but  wandered 
about  the  town  in  search  of  casts  and  books  on  art.     He 

5 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

bought  a  fine  copy  of  Albinus  at  his  father's  expense,  and 
in  a  fortnight,  with  his  sister  to  aid,  learnt  all  the 
muscles  of  the  body,  their  rise  and  insertion,  by  heart. 
He  stumbled  accidentally  on  Reynold's  Discourses,  and 
the  first  that  he  read  placed  so  much  reliance  on  honest 
industry,  and  expressed  so  strong  a  conviction  that  all 
men  are  equal  in  talent,  and  that  application  makes  all 
the  difference,  that  the  would-be  artist,  who  hitherto  had 
been  held  back  by  some  distrust  of  his  natural  powers, 
felt  that  at  last  his  destiny  was  irrevocably  fixed.  He 
announced  his  intention  of  adopting  an  art-career  with  a 
determination  that  demolished  all  argument,  and,  in  spite 
of  remonstrances,  reproaches,  tears,  and  scoldings,  he 
wrung  from  his  father  permission  to  go  to  London,  and 
the  promise  of  support  for  the  next  two  years. 

On  May  14,  1804,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  young 
Haydon  took  his  place  in  the  mail,  and  made  his  first 
flight  into  the  world.  Arriving  at  the  lodgings  that  had 
been  taken  for  him  in  the  Strand  in  the  early  morning, 
he  had  no  sooner  breakfasted  than  he  set  off  for  Somerset 
House,  to  see  the  Royal  Academy  Exhibition.  Looking 
round  for  historical  pictures,  he  discovered  that  Opie's 
'  Gil  Bias '  was  the  centre  of  attraction  in  one  room,  and 
WestalFs  '  Shipwrecked  Boy '  in  another. 

'I  don't  fear  you,'  he  said  to  himself  as  he  strode 
away.  His  next  step  was  to  inquire  for  a  plaster- shop, 
where  he  bought  the  Laocoon  and  other  casts,  and  then, 
having  unpacked  his  Albinus,  he  was  hard  at  work 
before  nine  next  morning  drawing  from  the  round,  and 
breathing  aspirations  for  High  Art,  and  defiance  to  all 
opposition.  '  For  three  months,'  he  tells  us,  '  I  saw 
nothing  but  my  books,  my  casts,  and  my  drawings.  My 
enthusiasm  was  immense,  my  devotion  for  study  that  of 
6 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

a  martyr.  I  rose  when  I  woke,  at  three  or  four,  drew  at 
anatomy  till  eight,  in  chalks  from  casts  from  nine  till 
one,  and  from  half-past  two  till  five — then  walked,  dined, 
and  to  anatomy  again  from  seven  till  ten  or  eleven.  I 
was  resolute  to  be  a  great  painter,  to  honour  my  country, 
and  to  rescue  the  Art  from  that  stigma  of  incapacity  that 
was  impressed  upon  it.' 

After  some  months  of  solitary  study,  Haydon  be- 
thought him  of  a  letter  of  introduction  that  had  been 
given  him  to  Prince  Hoare,  who  was  something  of  a 
critic,  having  himself  failed  as  an  artist.  Hoare  good- 
naturedly  encouraged  the  youth  in  his  ambitions,  and 
gave  him  introductions  to  Northcote,  Opie,  and 
Fuseli. 

To  Northcote,  who  was  a  Plymouth  man,  Haydon  went 
first,  and  he  gives  a  curious  account  of  his  interview  with 
his  distinguished  fellow-countryman,  who  also  had  once 
cherished  aspirations  after  high  art.  Northcote,  a  little 
wizened  old  man,  with  a  broad  Devonshire  accent, 
exclaimed  on  hearing  that  his  young  visitor  intended 
to  be  a  historical  painter :  '  Heestorical  painter !  why, 
ye  Ml  starve  with  a  bundle  of  straw  under  yeer  head.'  As 
for  anatomy,  he  declared  that  it  was  no  use.  '  Sir  Joshua 
didn't  know  it ;  why  should  you  want  to  know  what  he 
didn't?  Michael  Angelo !  What's  he  to  do  here? 
You  must  paint  portraits  here.'  '  I  won't,'  said  young 
Haydon,  clenching  his  teeth,  and  he  marched  off  to  Opie. 
He  found  a  coarse- looking,  intellectual  man  who,  after 
reading  the  introductory  letter,  said  quietly,  '  You  are 
studying  anatomy — master  it — were  I  your  age,  I  would 
do  the  same.'  The  last  visit  was  to  Fuseli,  who  had  a 
great  reputation  for  the  terrible,  both  as  artist  and  as 
man.      The  gallery  into  which  the  visitor  was  ushered 

7 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

was  so  full  of  devils,  witches,  ghosts,  blood  and  thunder, 
that  it  was  a  palpable  relief  when  nothing  more  alarming 
appeared  than  a  little  old  and  lion-faced  man,  attired  in 
a  flannel  dressing-gown,  with  the  bottom  of  Mrs.  Fuseli's 
work-basket  on  his  head !  Fuseli,  who  had  just  been 
appointed  Keeper  of  Academy,  received  the  young  man 
kindly,  praised  his  drawings,  and  expressed  a  hope  that 
he  would  see  him  at  the  Academy  School. 

After  the  Christmas  vacation  of  1805,  Haydon  began 
to  attend  the  Academy  classes,  where  he  struck  up  a  close 
friendship  with  John  Jackson,  afterwards  a  popular 
portrait-painter  and  Royal  Academician,  but  then  a 
student  like  himself.  Jackson  was  the  son  of  a  village 
tailor  in  Yorkshire,  and  the  protege  of  Lord  Mulgrave 
and  Sir  George  Beaumont.  The  two  friends  told  each 
other  their  plans  for  the  future,  drew  together  in  the 
evenings,  and  made  their  first  life-studies  from  a  friendly 
coalheaver  whom  they  persuaded  to  sit  to  them.  After  a 
few  months  of  hard  work,  Haydon  was  summoned  home 
to  take  leave  of  his  father,  who  was  believed  to  be  dying. 
The  invalid  recovered,  and  then  followed  another  period 
of  torture  for  the  young  student — aunts,  uncles,  and 
cousins  all  trying  to  drive  the  stray  sheep  back  into  the 
commercial  fold.  Exhausted  by  the  struggle,  Haydon  at 
last  consented  to  relinquish  his  career,  and  enter  the 
business.  Great  was  his  delight  and  surprise  when  his 
father  refused  to  accept  the  sacrifice — which  was  made  in 
anything  but  a  cheerful  spirit  — and  promised  to  contribute 
to  his  support  until  he  was  able  to  provide  for  himself. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  domestic  convulsions  came  a 

letter  from  Jackson,  containing  the  announcement  that 

there  was  'a  raw,  tall,  pale,  queer  Scotchman  just  come 

up,  an  odd  fellow,  but  with  something  in  him.     He  is 

8 


i 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

called  Wilkie/  '  Hang  the  fellow  !  **  said  Haydon  to  him- 
self. '  I  hope  with  his  "  something  "^  he  is  not  going  to 
be  a  historical  painter/  On  his  return  to  town,  our  hero 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  queer  young  Scotchman, 
and  was  soon  admitted  to  his  friendship  and  intimacy. 
Wilkie'*s  'Village  Politicians'"  was  the  sensation  of  the 
Exhibition  of  1806,  and  brought  him  two  important 
commissions — one  from  Lord  Mulgrave  for  the  'Blind 
Fiddler,""  and  the  other  from  Sir  George  Beaumont  for  the 
*  Rent-Day.'  It  was  now  considered  that  Wilkie's  fortune 
was  made,  his  fame  secure,  and  if  his  two  chief  friends 
— Haydon  and  Jackson — could  not  help  regarding  him 
with  some  natural  feelings  of  envy,  it  is  evident  that  his 
early  success  encouraged  them,  and  stimulated  them  to 
increased  effort. 

Haydon  had  been  learning  fresh  secrets  in  his  art, 
partly  from  an  anatomical '  subject  *"  that  he  had  obtained 
from  a  surgeon,  and  partly  from  his  introduction,  through 
the  good  offices  of  Jackson,  to  the  works  of  Titian  at 
Stafford  House,  and  in  other  private  collections,  there 
being  as  yet  no  National  Gallery  where  the  student  could 
study  the  old  masters  at  his  pleasure.  Haydon  was  now 
panting  to  begin  his  first  picture,  his  natural  self-con- 
fidence having  been  strengthened  by  a  letter  from  Wilkie, 
who  reported  that  Lord  Mulgrave,  with  whom  he  was 
staying,  was  much  interested  in  what  he  had  heard  of 
Hay  don's  ambitions.  Lord  Mulgrave  had  suggested  a 
heroic  subject — the  Death  of  Dentatus — which  he  would 
like  to  see  painted,  and  he  wished  to  know  if  this  com- 
mended itself  to  Haydon's  ideas.  This  first  commission 
for  a  great  historical  picture — for  so  he  understood  the 
suggestion — was  a  triumph  for  the  young  artist,  who 
felt  himself  gloriously  rewarded  for  two  years  of  labour 

9 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

and  opposition.  He  had,  however,  already  decided  on  the 
subject  of  his  first  attempt — Joseph  and  Mary  resting 
on  the  road  to  Egypt.  On  October  1, 1806,  after  setting 
his  palette,  and  taking  his  brush  in  hand,  he  knelt  down, 
in  accordance  with  his  invariable  custom  throughout  his 
career,  and  prayed  fervently  that  God  would  bless  his 
work,  grant  him  energy  to  create  a  new  era  in  art,  and 
rouse  the  people  to  a  just  estimate  of  the  moral  value  of 
historical  painting. 

Then  followed  a  happy  time.  The  difficulties  of  a  first 
attempt  were  increased  by  his  lack  of  systematic  training, 
but  Hay  don  believed,  with  Sir  Joshua,  that  application 
made  the  artist,  and  he  certainly  spared  no  pains  to 
achieve  success.  He  painted  and  repainted  his  heads  a 
dozen  times,  and  used  to  mix  tints  on  a  piece  of  paper, 
and  carry  them  down  to  Stafford  House  once  a  week  in 
order  to  compare  them  with  the  colouring  of  the  Titians. 
While  this  work  was  in  progress.  Sir  George  and  Lady 
Beaumont  called  to  see  the  picture,  which  they  declared 
was  very  poetical,  and  '  quite  large  enough  for  anything' 
(the  canvas  was  six  feet  by  four),  and  invited  the  artist 
to  dinner.  This  first  dinner-party,  in  what  he  regarded 
as  'high  life,"*  was  an  alarming  ordeal  for  the  country 
youth,  who  made  prodigious  preparations,  drove  to  the 
house  in  a  state  of  abject  terror,  and  in  five  minutes  was 
sitting  on  an  ottoman,  talking  to  Lady  Beaumont,  and 
more  at  ease  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life.  In  truth, 
bashfulness  was  never  one  of  Haydon's  foibles. 

The  Joseph  and  Mary  took  six  months  to  paint,  and 
was  exhibited  in  1807.  It  was  considered  a  remarkable 
work  for  a  young  student,  and  was  bought  the  following 
year  by  Mr.  Hope  of  Deepdene.  During  the  season, 
Haydon  was  introduced  to  Lord  Mulgrave,  and  with  his 
10 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

friends  Wilkie  and  Jackson  frequently  dined  at  the 
Admiralty,^  where  they  met  ministers,  generals,  great 
ladies  and  men  of  genius,  and  rose  daily  in  hope  and 
promise.  Haydon  now  began  the  picture  of  the  *  Death 
of  Siccius  Dentatus'  that  his  patron  had  suggested,  but 
he  found  the  difficulties  so  overwhelming  that,  by  Wilkie''8 
advice,  he  decided  to  go  down  to  Plymouth  for  a  few 
months,  and  practise  portrait-painting.  At  fifteen  guineas 
a  head,  he  got  plenty  of  employment  among  his  friends 
and  relations,  though  he  owns  that  his  portraits  were 
execrable ;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  obtained  some  facility 
in  painting  heads,  he  was  anxious  to  return  to  town  to 
finish  his  large  picture.  Mrs.  Haydon  was  now  in  declin- 
ing health,  and  desiring  to  consult  a  famous  surgeon  in 
London,  she  decided  to  travel  thither  with  her  son  and 
daughter.  Unfortunately  her  disease,  angina  pectoris^ 
was  aggravated  by  the  agitation  of  the  journey,  and  on 
the  road,  at  Salt  Hill,  she  was  seized  with  an  attack  that 
proved  fatal.  Haydon  was  obliged  to  return  to  Devon- 
shire with  his  sister,  but  as  soon  as  the  funeral  was  over 
he  set  off  again  for  town,  where  his  prospects  seemed  to 
justify  his  exchanging  his  garret  in  the  Strand  for  a  first 
floor  in  Great  Marlborough  Street. 

He  found  the  practice  gained  in  portrait-painting  a 
substantial  advantage,  but  he  still  felt  himself  incapable 
of  composing  a  heroic  figure  for  Dentatus.  *  If  I  copied 
nature  my  work  was  mean,"*  he  complains ;  *  and  if  I  left 
her  it  was  mannered.  How  was  I  to  build  a  heroic  form 
like  life,  yet  above  life?"*  He  was  puzzled  to  find,  in 
painting  from  the  living  model,  that  the  markings  of  the 
skin  varied  with  the  action  of  the  limbs,  variations  that 

*  Lord  Mulgrave  had  recently  been  appointed  First  Lord  of  the 
Admiralty. 

11 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

did  not  appear  in  the  few  specimens  of  the  antique  that 
had  come  under  his  notice.  Was  nature  wrong,  he 
asked  himself,  or  the  antique  ?  During  this  period  of 
indecision  and  confusion  came  a  proposal  from  Wilkie 
that  they  should  go  together  to  inspect  the  Elgin  Marbles 
then  newly  arrived  in  England,  and  deposited  at  Lord 
Elgin's  house  in  Park  Lane.  Haydon  carelessly  agreed, 
knowing  nothing  of  the  wonders  he  was  to  see,  and  the 
two  friends  proceeded  to  Park  Lane,  where  they  were 
ushered  through  a  yard  to  a  dirty  shed,  in  which  lay  the 
world-famous  Marbles. 

'  The  first  thing  I  fixed  my  eyes  on,'  to  quote  Haydon's 
own  words,  '  was  the  wrist  of  a  figure  in  one  of  the  female 
groups,  in  which  were  visible  the  radius  and  ulna.  I  was 
astonished,  for  I  had  never  seen  them  hinted  at  in  any 
wrist  in  the  antique.  I  darted  my  eye  to  the  elbow,  and 
saw  the  outer  condyle  visibly  affecting  the  shape,  as  in 
nature.  That  combination  of  nature  and  repose  which 
I  had  felt  was  so  much  wanting  for  high  art  was  here 
displayed  to  midday  conviction.  My  heart  beat.  If  I 
had  seen  nothing  else,  I  had  beheld  sufficient  to  help  me 
to  nature  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  But  when  I  turned  to 
the  Theseus,  and  saw  that  every  form  was  altered  by 
action  or  repose — when  I  saw  that  the  two  sides  of  his 
back  varied  as  he  rested  on  his  elbow ;  and  again,  when 
in  the  figure  of  the  fighting  metope,  I  saw  the  muscle 
shown  under  one  armpit  in  that  instantaneous  action  of 
darting  out,  and  left  out  in  the  other  armpits;  when  I 
saw,  in  short,  the  most  heroic  style  of  art,  combined  with 
all  the  essential  detail  of  everyday  life,  the  thing  was 
done  at  once  and  for  ever.  .  .  .  Here  were  the  principles 
which  the  great  Greeks  in  their  finest  time  established, 
and  here  was  I,  the  most  prominent  historical  student, 
12 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

perfectly  qualified  to  appreciate  all  this  by  my  own 
determined  mode  of  study ."* 

On  returning  to  his  painting-room,  Haydon,  feeling 
utterly  disgusted  with  his  attempt  at  the  heroic  in  the 
form  and  action  of  Dentatus,  obliterated  what  he  calls 
'  the  abominable  mass,'  and  breathed  as  if  relieved  of  a 
nuisance.  Through  Lord  Mulgrave  he  obtained  an  order 
to  draw  from  the  Marbles,  and  devoted  the  next  three 
months  to  mastering  their  secrets,  and  bringing  his  hand 
and  mind  into  subjection  to  the  principles  that  they 
displayed.  'I  rose  with  the  sun,'  he  writes,  with  the 
glow  of  his  first  enthusiasm  still  upon  him,  'and  opened 
my  eyes  to  the  light  only  to  be  conscious  of  my  high 
pursuit.  I  sprang  from  my  bed,  dressed  like  one  possessed, 
and  passed  the  day,  noon,  and  the  night,  in  the  same 
dream  of  abstracted  enthusiasm  ;  secluded  from  the  world, 
regardless  of  its  feelings,  impregnable  to  disease,  insensible 
to  contempt.'  He  painted  his  heads,  figures,  and 
draperies  over  and  over  again,  feeling  that  to  obliterate 
was  the  only  way  to  improve.  His  studio  soon  filled  with 
fashionable  folk,  who  came  to  see  the  'extraordinary  picture 
painted  by  a  young  man  who  had  never  had  the  advantages 
of  foreign  travel.'  Haydon  believed,  with  the  simplicity 
of  a  child,  in  all  these  flattering  prophecies  of  glory  and 
fame,  and  imagined  that  the  Academy  would  welcome 
with  open  arms  so  promising  a  student,  one,  moreover, 
who  had  been  trained  in  its  own  school.  He  redoubled 
his  efforts,  and  in  March  1809,  'Dentatus'  was  finished. 

'The  production  of  this  picture,'  he  naively  explains, 
'  must  and  will  be  considered  as  an  epoch  in  English  art. 
The  drawing  in  it  was  correct  and  elevated,  and  the 
perfect  forms  and  system  of  the  antique  were  carried  into 
painting,  united  with  the  fleshy  look   of  everyday  life, 

13 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

The  colour,  light  and  shadow,  the  composition  and  the 
telling  of  the  story  were  complete.'  His  contemporaries 
did  not  form  quite  so  flattering  an  estimate  of  the  work. 
It  was  badly  hung,  a  fate  to  which  many  an  artist  of 
three-and-twenty  has  had  to  submit,  before  and  since  ; 
but  Haydon  writes  as  if  no  such  injustice  had  been  com- 
mitted since  the  world  began,  and  was  persuaded  that 
the  whole  body  of  Academicians  was  leagued  in  spite  and 
jealousy  against  him.  Lord  Mulgrave  gave  him  sixty 
guineas  in  addition  to  the  hundred  he  had  first  promised, 
which  seems  a  fair  price  for  the  second  work  of  an  obscure 
artist,  but  poor  Haydon  fancied  that  his  professional 
prospects  had  suffered  from  the  treatment  of  the  Academy, 
that  people  of  fashion  (on  whose  attentions  he  set  great 
store)  were  neglecting  him,  and  that  he  was  a  marked 
man.  A  sea-trip  to  Plymouth  with  Wilkie  gave  his 
thoughts  a  new  and  more  healthy  turn.  Together,  the 
friends  visited  Sir  Joshua's  birthplace,  and  roamed  over 
the  moors  and  combes  of  Devonshire.  Before  returning 
to  town,  they  spent  a  delightful  fortnight  with  Sir  George 
Beaumont  at  Coleorton,  where,  says  Haydon,  '  we  dined 
with  the  Claude  and  Rembrandt  before  us,  and  break- 
fasted with  the  Rubens  landscape,  and  did  nothing, 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  but  think  of  painting,  talk  of 
painting,  and  wake  to  paint  again.' 

During  this  visit.  Sir  George  gave  Haydon  a  commis- 
sion for  a  picture  on  a  subject  from  Macbeth.  After  it 
was  begun,  he  objected  to  the  size,  but  our  artist,  who, 
throughout  his  life,  detested  painting  cabinet  pictures, 
refused  to  attempt  anything  on  a  smaller  scale.  He  per- 
suaded Sir  George  to  withhold  his  decision  until  the 
picture  was  finished,  and  promised  that  if  he  still  objected 
to  the  size,  he  would  paint  him  another  on  any  scale  he 
14 


1 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

pleased.  While  engaged  on  '  Macbeth,''  he  competed 
with  '  Dentatus '  for  a  hundred  guinea  prize  offered  by 
the  Directors  of  the  British  Gallery  for  the  best  historical 
picture.  '  Dentatus '  won  the  prize,  but  this  piece  of 
good  fortune  was  counterbalanced  by  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Haydon,  senior,  containing  the  announcement  that  he 
could  no  longer  afford  to  maintain  his  son.  This  was  a 
heavy  blow,  but  after  turning  over  pros  and  cons  in  his  own 
mind,  Haydon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  since  he  had 
won  the  hundred  guinea  prize,  he  had  a  good  chance  of 
winning  a  three  hundred  guinea  prize,  which  the  Directors 
now  offered,  with  his  '  Macbeth,'  and  consequently  that 
he  had  no  occasion  to  dread  starvation.  '  Thus  reason- 
ing,' he  says,  '  I  borrowed,  and  praying  God  to  bless  my 
emotions,  went  on  more  vigorously  than  ever.  And  here 
began  debt  and  obligation,  out  of  which  I  have  never  been, 
and  shall  never  be,  extricated,  as  long  as  I  live.'' 

This  prophecy  proved  only  too  true.  But  Haydon, 
though  he  afterwards  bitterly  regretted  his  folly  in 
exchanging  independence  for  debt,  and  his  pride  in  re- 
fusing to  paint  pot-boilers  in  the  intervals  of  his  great 
works,  firmly  believed  that  he,  with  his  high  aims  and 
fervent  desire  to  serve  the  cause  of  art,  was  justified  in 
continuing  his  ambitious  course,  and  depending  for 
maintenance  on  the  contributions  of  his  friends.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  approbation  of  his  own  conduct,  or 
shake  his  faith  in  his  own  powers.  '  I  was  a  virtuous 
and  diligent  youth,'  he  assures  us ;  *  I  never  touched  wine, 
dined  at  reasonable  chop-houses,  lived  principally  in  my 
study,  and  cleaned  my  own  brushes,  like  the  humblest 
student.'  He  goes  to  see  Sebastian  del  Piombo's 
'  Lazarus'  in  the  Angerstein  collection,  and,  after  writing 
a  careful  criticism  of  the  work,  concludes  :  *  It  is  a  grand 

16 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

picture;  a  great  acquisition  to  the  country,  and  an 
honour  to  Mr.  Angerstein's  taste  and  spirit  in  buying  it ; 
yet  if  God  cut  not  my  life  permanently  short,  I  hope  I 
shall  leave  one  behind  me  that  will  do  more  honour  to 
my  country  than  this  has  done  to  Rome.  In  short,  if  I 
live,  I  will — I  feel  I  shall.  (God  pardon  me  if  this  is 
presumption.     June  21,  1810.) ' 

At  this  time  Haydon  devoted  a  good  deal  of  his  leisure 
to  reading  classic  authors.  Homer,  ^schylus,  and  Virgil, 
in  order  to  tune  his  mind  to  high  thoughts.  Nearly  every 
day  he  spent  a  few  hours  in  drawing  from  the  Elgin 
Marbles,  and  he  piously  thanks  God  that  he  was  in  exist- 
ence on  their  arrival.  He  spared  no  pains  to  ensure 
that  his  '  Macbeth  **  should  be  perfect  in  poetry,  expres- 
sion, form  and  colour,  making  casts  and  studies  without 
end.  His  friends  related,  as  a  wonderful  specimen  of  his 
conscientiousness,  that,  after  having  completed  the  figure 
of  Macbeth,  he  took  it  out  in  order  to  raise  it  higher 
in  the  picture,  believing  that  this  would  improve  the 
effect.  '  The  wonder  in  ancient  Athens  would  have  been 
if  I  had  suffered  him  to  remain,'  he  observes.  '  Such  is 
the  state  of  art  in  this  country  !  "* 

In  1811  Haydon  entered  into  his  first  journalistic  con- 
troversy, an  unfortunate  departure,  as  it  turned  out,  since 
it  gave  him  a  taste  for  airing  his  ideas  in  print.  Leigh 
Hunt,  to  whom  he  had  been  introduced  a  year  or  two 
before,  had  attacked  one  of  his  theories,  relative  to 
a  standard  figure,  in  the  Examiner.  Haydon  replied, 
was  replied  to  himself,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  the 
controversy  which,  he  says,  consolidated  his  powers  of 
verbal  expression.  Leigh  Hunt  he  describes  as  a  fine 
specimen  of  a  London  editor,  with  his  bushy  hair,  black 
eyes,  pale  face,  and  '  nose  of  taste.'  He  was  assuming 
16 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

yet  moderate,  sarcastic  yet  genial,  with  a  smattering  of 
everything  and  mastery  of  nothing ;  affecting  the  dictator, 
the  poet,  the  politician,  the  critic,  and  the  sceptic, 
whichever  would,  at  the  moment,  give  him  the  air,  to 
inferior  minds,  of  a  very  superior  man."  Although 
Haydon  disliked  Hunt's  *  Cockney  peculiarities,"  and  dis- 
approved of  his  republican  principles,  yet  the  fearless 
honesty  of  his  opinions,  the  unhesitating  sacrifice  of  his 
own  interests,  the  unselfish  perseverance  of  his  attacks 
upon  all  abuses,  whether  royal  or  religious,  noble  or 
democratic,  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  young  artist's 
mind. 

Towards  the  end  of  1811  the  new  picture,  which 
represents  Macbeth  stepping  between  the  sleeping 
grooms  to  murder  the  king,  was  finished,  and  sent  to  the 
British  Gallery.  It  was  well  hung,  and  was  praised  by 
the  critics,  but  Sir  George  declined  to  take  it,  though  he 
offered  to  pay  Haydon  a  hundred  pounds  for  his 
trouble,  or  to  give  him  a  commission  for  a  picture  on 
a  smaller  scale.  Haydon  petulantly  refused  both  offers, 
and  thus  after  three  years'  work,  and  incurring  debts  to 
the  amount  of  six  hundred  pounds,  he  found  himself 
penniless,  with  his  picture  returned  on  his  hands.  This 
disappointment  was  only  the  natural  result  of  his  own 
impracticable  temperament,  but  to  Haydon's  exaggerative 
sense  the  whole  world  seemed  joined  in  a  conspiracy 
against  him.  'Exasperated  by  the  neglect  of  my 
family,'  he  writes,  '  tormented  by  the  consciousness  of 
debt,  cut  to  the  heart  by  the  cruelty  of  Sir  George, 
and  enraged  at  the  insults  of  the  Academy,  I  became 
furious.'  His  fury,  unfortunately,  found  vent  in  an 
attack  upon  the  Academy  and  its  methods,  through  the 
medium  of  the  Examiner,  which  was  the  recognised 
B  17 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

vehicle  of  all  attacks  upon  authority.  The  onslaught 
seems  to  have  been  justified,  though  whether  it  was 
judicious  is  another  question.  The  ideals  of  English 
artists  during  the  early  years  of  the  nineteenth  century 
had  sunk  very  low,  and  the  standard  of  public  taste  was 
several  degrees  lower.  Portrait-painting  was  the  only 
lucrative  branch  of  art,  and  the  Academy  was  almost 
entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  portrait-painters,  who  gave 
little  encouragement  to  works  of  imagination.  The 
burden  of  the  patron,  which  had  been  removed  from 
literature,  still  rested  upon  painting,  and  the  Acade- 
micians found  it  more  to  their  interest  to  foster  the 
ignorance  than  to  educate  the  taste  of  the  patron. 

Over  the  signature  of  '  An  English  Student,'  Haydon 
not  only  exposed  the  inefficiency  of  the  Academy,  but 
advocated  numerous  reforms,  chief  among  them  being 
an  improved  method  of  election,  the  establishment  of 
schools  of  design,  a  reduction  in  the  power  of  the  Council, 
and  an  annual  grant  of  public  money  for  purposes  of  art. 
In  these  days,  when  the  Academicians  are  no  longer 
regarded  as  a  sacred  body,  it  is  hard  to  realise  the 
commotion  that  these  letters  made  in  art  circles,  whether 
professional  or  amateur.  The  identity  of  the  '  English 
Student  **  was  soon  discovered,  and  *  from  that  moment,"* 
writes  Haydon,  '  the  destiny  of  my  life  was  changed.  My 
picture  was  caricatured,  my  name  detested,  my  peace 
harassed.  I  was  looked  at  like  a  monster,  abused  like  a 
plague,  and  avoided  like  a  maniac'  There  is  probably 
some  characteristic  exaggeration  in  this  statement,  but 
considering  the  power  wielded  at  this  time  by  the 
Academy  and  its  supporters,  Haydon  would  undoubtedly 
have  done  better,  from  a  worldly  point  of  view,  to  keep 
clear  of  these  controversies.  The  prudent  and  sensible 
18 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

Wilkie  was  much  distressed  at  his  friend's  ebulHtion  of 
temper,  and  earnestly  advised  him  to  follow  up  the 
reputation  his  brush  had  gained  for  him,  and  leave  the 
pen  alone.  '  In  moments  of  depression,**  wrote  Haydon, 
many  years  later, '  I  often  wished  I  had  followed  Wilkie''s 
advice,  but  then  I  should  never  have  acquired  that  grand 
and  isolated  reputation,  solitary  and  unsupported,  which, 
while  it  encumbers  the  individual,  inspires  him  with 
vigour  proportioned  to  the  load."* 

On  April  3,  1812,  Haydon  records  in  his  journal : 
'  My  canvas  came  home  for  Solomon,  twelve  feet  ten 
inches  by  ten  feet  ten  inches — a  grand  size.  God  in 
heaven,  grant  me  strength  of  body  and  vigour  of  mind 
to  cover  it  with  excellence.  Amen — on  my  knees.** 
His  design  was  to  paint  a  series  of  great  ideal  works, 
that  should  stand  comparison  with  the  productions 
of  the  old  masters,  and  he  had  chosen  the  somewhat 
stereotyped  subject  of  the  Judgment  of  Solomon,  because 
Raphael  and  Rubens  had  both  tried  it,  and  lie  intended 
to  tell  the  story  better!  He  was  now,  at  the  l)egin- 
ning  of  this  ambitious  project,  entirely  without  means. 
His  father  had  died,  and  left  him  nothing,  and  his 
'Macbeth'*  had  not  won  the  J^SOO  premium  at  the 
British  Gallery.  His  aristocratic  friends  had  tem- 
porarily deserted  him,  but  the  Hunts  assisted  him  with 
the  ready  liberality  of  the  impecunious.  John  lent 
him  small  sums  of  money,  while  Leigh  offered  him  a 
plate  at  his  table  till  Solomon  was  finished,  and  initi- 
ated him  into  the  mysteries  of  drawing  and  discounting 
bills. 

Haydon  already  owed  his  landlord  two  hundred  pounds, 
but  that  seemed  to  him  no  reason  for  moving  into 
cheaper  rooms.     He  called  the  man  up,  and  represented 

19 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

to  him  that  he  was  about  to  paint  a  great  masterpiece, 
which  would  take  him  two  years,  during  which  period  he 
would  earn  nothing,  and  be  unable  to  pay  any  rent.  The 
landlord,  surely  a  unique  specimen  of  his  order,  de- 
liberated rather  ruefully  over  the  prospect  set  before 
him,  rubbed  his  chin,  and  muttered :  '  I  should  not  like 
ye  to  go — it 's  hard  for  both  of  us ;  but  what  I  say  is, 
you  always  paid  me  when  you  could,  and  why  should  you 
not  again  when  you  are  able  ?  .  .  .  Well,  sir,  here 's  my 
hand ;  1 11  give  you  two  years  more,  and  if  this  does  not 
sell — why  then,  sir,  we'll  consider  what  is  to  be 
done/ 

Thus  a  roof  ^was  provided,  but  there  was  still  dinner 
to  be  thought  of,  since,  if  a  man  works,  he  must  also  eat. 
*  I  went  to  the  house  [John  o"*  Groat's]  where  I  had  always 
dined,**  writes  Hay  don,  '  intending  to  dine  without  paying 
for  that  day.  I  thought  the  servants  did  not  offer  me 
the  same  attention.  I  thought  I  perceived  the  company 
examine  me — I  thought  the  meat  was  worse.  My  heart 
sank,  as  I  said  falteringly,  "  I  will  pay  you  to-morrow." 
The  girl  smiled,  and  seemed  interested.  As  I  was 
escaping  with  a  sort  of  lurking  horror,  she  said,  "Mr. 
Haydon,  my  master  wishes  to  see  you."  "My  God," 
thought  I,  "it  is  to  tell  me  he  can't  trust!"  In  I 
walked  like  a  culprit.  "  Sir,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I 
see  by  the  papers  you  have  been  ill-used ;  I  hope  you 
won't  be  angry — I  mean  no  offence;  but  I  just  wish  to 
say,  as  you  have  dined  here  many  years  and  always  paid, 
if  it  would  be  a  convenience  during  your  present  work 
to  dine  here  till  it  is  done — so  that  you  may  not  be 
obliged  to  spend  your  money  here  when  you  may  want 
it — I  was  going  to  say  that  you  need  be  under  no  appre- 
hension— hem  !  for  a  dinner." '  This  handsome  offer  was 
20 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

condescendingly  accepted,  and  the  good  man  seemed  quite 
relieved. 

While  Solomon  was  slowly  progressing  at  the  expense 
of  the  landlord  and  the  eating-house  keeper,  Haydon 
spent  his  leisure  in  literary  rather  than  artistic  circles. 
At  Leigh  Hunt's  he  met,  and  became  intimate  with 
Charles  Lamb,  Keats,  Hazlitt,  and  John  Scott.  In 
January  1813  he  writes:  'Spent  the  evening  with  Leigh 
Hunt  at  West  End.  His  society  is  always  delightful. 
I  do  not  know  a  purer,  more  virtuous  partner,  or  a  more 
witty  and  enlivening  man.  We  talked  of  his  approaching 
imprisonment.  He  said  it  would  be  a  great  pleasure  if  he 
were  certain  to  be  sent  to  Newgate,  because  he  should  be 
in  the  midst  of  his  friends."*  Hazlitt  won  our  hero's  liking 
by  praising  his  'Macbeth.'  'Thence  began  a  friend- 
ship,' Haydon  tells  us,  'for  that  interesting  man,  that 
singular  mixture  of  friend  and  fiend,  radical  and  critic, 
metaphysician,  poet,  and  painter,  on  whose  word  no  one 
could  rely,  on  whose  heart  no  one  could  calculate,  and 
some  of  whose  deductions  he  himself  would  try  to  explain 
in  vain.  .  .  .  Mortified  at  his  own  failure  [in  painting] 
he  resolved  that  as  he  had  not  succeeded,  no  one  else 
should,  and  he  spent  the  whole  of  his  after-life  in 
damping  the  ardour,  chilling  the  hopes,  and  dimming 
the  prospects  of  patrons  and  painters,  so  that  after  I 
once  admitted  him,  I  had  nothing  but  forebodings  of 
failure  to  bear  up  against,  croakings  about  the  climate, 
and  sneers  at  the  taste  of  the  public' 

By  the  beginning  of  1814  Solomon  was  approaching 
completion,  but  the  artist  had  been  reduced  to  living  for 
a  fortnight  on  potatoes.  He  had  now  been  nearly  four 
years  without  a  commission,  and  three  without  any  help 
from  home,  so  that  it  is  not  surprising  to  learn  that  he 

«1 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

felt  completely  broken  down  in  body  and  mind,  or  that 
his  debts  amounted  to  ^£'1100.  A  frame  was  procured 
on  credit,  and,  failing  any  more  suitable  place  of  exhibi- 
tion, the  picture  was  sent  to  the  Water-colour  Society. 
At  the  private  view,  the  Princess  of  Wales  and  other 
eminent  critics  pronounced  against  the  Solomon,  but  as 
soon  as  the  public  were  admitted,  the  tune  changed,  and 
John  Bull  vowed  it  was  the  finest  work  of  art  ever 
.produced  in  England.  If  posterity  has  not  indorsed 
this  judgment,  the  Solomon  is  at  least  regarded,  by 
competent  critics,  as  Haydon's  most  successful  work. 
'  Before  the  doors  had  been  open  half  an  hour,"  writes 
Haydon,  'a  gentleman  opened  his  pocket-book,  and 
showed  me  a  i^500  note.  "Will  you  take  it?"  My 
heart  beat — my  agonies  of  want  pressed,  but  it  was  too 
little.  I  trembled  out,  "  I  cannot.'"  The  gentleman 
invited  me  to  dine,  and  when  we  were  sitting  over  our 
wine,  agreed  to  give  me  my  price.  His  lady  said,  "  But, 
my  dear,  where  am  I  to  put  my  piano  ?  "  and  the  bargain 
was  at  an  end  ! '  On  the  third  day  Sir  George  Beaumont 
and  Mr.  Holwell  Carr  came  to  the  Exhibition,  having 
been  deputed  to  buy  the  picture  for  the  British  Gallery. 
While  they  were  discussing  its  merits,  one  of  the  officials 
went  over,  and  put  '  sold '  on  the  frame,  whereupon  the 
artist  says  he  thought  he  should  have  fainted.  The 
work  had  been  bought  at  the  price  asked,  =£^700,  by  two 
Plymouth  bankers.  Sir  William  Elford  (the  friend  and 
correspondent  of  Miss  Mitford)  and  Mr.  Tinge- 
combe. 

Poor  Haydon  now  thought  that  his  fortune  was  secure. 

He  paid  away  ^^500  to  landlord  and  tradesmen  in  the 

first  week,  and  though  this  did  not  settle  half  his  debts, 

it  restored  his  credit.     The  balance  was  spent  in  a  trip 

^2 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

to  Paris  with  Wilkie,  Paris  being  then  (May  1814)  the 
most  interesting  place  on  earth.  All  the  nations  of 
Europe  were  gathered  together  there,  and  the  Louvre 
was  in  its  glory.  So  absorbed  and  fascinated  was 
Haydon  by  the  actual  life  of  the  city,  that  he  finds 
little  to  say  about  the  works  of  art  there  collected. 
Yet  his  first  visit  was  to  the  Louvre,  and  he  describes 
with  what  impetuosity  he  bounded  up  the  steps,  three 
at  a  time,  and  how  he  scolded  Wilkie  for  trotting  up 
with  his  usual  deliberation.  'I  might  just  as  well  have 
scolded  the  column,'  he  observes.  '  I  soon  left  him  at 
some  Jan  Steen,  while  I  never  stopped  until  I  stood 
before  the  "  Transfiguration.""  My  first  feeling  was  dis- 
appointment. It  looked  small,  harsh  and  hard.  This, 
of  course,  is  always  the  way  when  you  have  fed  your 
imagination  for  years  on  a  work  you  know  only  by 
prints.  Even  the  "  Pietro  Martyre'*'*  was  smaller  than  I 
thought  to  find  it;  yet  after  the  difference  between 
reality  and  anticipation  had  worn  away,  these  great 
works  amply  repaid  the  study  of  them,  and  grew  up  to 
the  fancy,  or  rather  the  fancy  grew  up  to  them.  .  .  . 
It  will  hardly  be  believed  by  artists  that  we  often  forgot 
the  great  works  in  the  Louvre  in  the  scenes  around  us, 
and  found  Russians  and  Bashkirs  from  Tartary  more 
attractive  than  the  "  Transfiguration '^ ;  but  so  it  was, 
and  I  do  not  think  we  were  very  wrong  either.  Why 
stay  poring  over  pictures  when  we  were  on  the  most 
remarkable  scene  in  the  history  of  the  earth.' 

On  his  return  to  London,  Haydon  was  gratified  by 
the  news  that  his  friend  and  fellow-townsman,  George 
Eastlake,  had  proposed  and  carried  a  motion  that  he 
should  be  presented  with  the  freedom  of  his  native  city, 
as  a  testimony  of  respect  for  his   extraordinary  merit 

23 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

as  a  historical  painter.  Furthermore,  the  Directors  of 
the  British  Gallery  sent  him  a  hundred  guineas  as  a 
token  of  their  admiration  for  his  latest  work.  But  no 
commission  followed,  either  from  a  private  patron  or 
pubHc  body.  However,  the  artist,  nothing  daunted, 
ordered  a  larger  canvas,  and  set  vigorously  to  work  on 
a  representation  of  'Christ's  Entry  into  Jerusalem,'  a 
picture  which  occupied  him,  with  intervals  of  illness  and 
idleness,  for  nearly  six  years. 

The  year  1815  was  too  full  of  stir  and  excitement  for 
a  man  like  Haydon,  who  was  always  keenly  interested  in 
public  affairs,  to  devote  himself  to  steady  work.  The 
news  of  Waterloo  almost  turned  his  brain.  On  June  23 
he  notes :  '  I  read  the  Gazette  [with  the  account  of 
Waterloo]  the  last  thing  before  going  to  bed.  I  dreamt 
of  it,  and  was  fighting  all  night ;  I  got  up  in  a  steam  of 
feeling,  and  read  the  Gazette  again,  ordered  a  Courier  for 
a  month,  and  read  all  the  papers  till  I  was  faint.  .  .  . 
'Have  not  the  efforts  of  the  nation,'  I  asked  myself, 
'  been  gigantic  ? '  To  such  glories  she  only  wants  to  add 
the  glories  of  my  noble  art  to  make  her  the  grandest 
nation  in  the  world,  and  these  she  shall  have  if  God 
spare  my  life.  .  .  . 

'  June  25. — Dined  with  Hunt.  I  give  myself  credit  for 
not  worrying  him  to  death  at  this  news.  He  was  quiet 
for  some  time,  but  knowing  it  must  come,  and  putting 
on  an  air  of  indifference,  he  said,  "  Terrible  battle  this, 
Haydon."  "  A  glorious  one.  Hunt."  "  Oh  yes,  certainly," 
and  to  it  we  went.  Yet  Hunt  took  a  just  and  liberal 
view  of  the  situation.  As  for  Hazlitt,  it  is  not  to  be 
believed  how  the  destruction  of  Napoleon  affected  him ; 
he  seemed  prostrated  in  mind  and  body;  he  walked 
about  unwashed,   unshaved,  hardly  sober   by  day,   and 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

•always  intoxicated  by  night,  literally,  without  exaggera- 
tion, for  weeks,  until  at  length,  wakening  as  it  were  from 
his  stupor,  he  at  once  left  off  all  stimulating  liquors,  and 
never  touched  them  after.' 

It  is  in  this  year  that  we  find  the  first  mention  in  the 
Journal  of  Wordsworth,  who,  throughout  his  life,  was 
one  of  Hay  dona's  most  faithful  friends  and  appreciative 
admirers.  On  April  13,  the  artist  records :  '  I  had  a  cast 
made  yesterday  of  Wordsworth's  face.  He  bore  it  like 
a  philosopher.  .  .  .  We  afterwards  called  on  Hunt,  and 
as  Hunt  had  previously  attacked  him,  and  now  has 
reformed  his  opinions,  the  meeting  was  interesting. 
Hunt  paid  him  the  highest  compliments,  and  told  him 
tliat  as  he  grew  wiser  and  got  older,  he  found  his  respect 
for  his  powers,  and  enthusiasm  for  his  genius,  increase. 
.  .  .  I  afterwards  sauntered  with  him  to  Hampstead, 
with  great  delight.  Never  did  any  man  so  beguile  the 
time  as  Wordsworth.  His  purity  of  heart,  his  kindness, 
his  soundness  of  principle,  his  information,  his  know- 
ledge, and  the  intense  and  eager  feelings  with  which  he 
pours  forth  all  he  knows,  affect,  interest,  and  enchant 
one.  I  do  not  know  any  one  I  would  be  so  inclined  to 
worship  as  a  purified  being."* 

The  new  picture  was  not  far  advanced  before  the 
painter  was  once  again  at  the  end  of  his  resources, 
though  not  of  his  courage.  Fifty  guineas  were  advanced 
to  him  by  Sir  George  Beaumont,  who  had  now  com- 
missioned a  picture  at  two  hundred  guineas,  and  Mr. 
(after  Sir  George)  Phillips,  of  Manchester,  gave  him  a 
commission  of  £500  for  a  sacred  work,  paying  one 
hundred  guineas  down.  But  these  advances  melted 
rapidly  away  in  the  expenses  attendant  on  the  painting 
of  so  ambitious  a  work  as  tlie  '  Entry  into  Jerusalem.'* 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

Towards  the  close  of  the  year  Haydon's  health  began  ta 
suffer  from  his  excessive  application,  his  sight  weakened, 
and  he  was  often  unable  to  paint  for  months  at  a  time. 
Under  these  afflictions,  he  was  consoled  by  receiving 
permission  to  take  casts  of  the  Elgin  Marbles,  the 
authenticity  of  which  treasures  had  recently  been  attacked 
by  the  art-critic,  Knight  Payne,  who  declared  that  they 
were  not  Greek  at  all,  but  Roman,  of  the  time  of 
Hadrian.  Such  was  the  effect  of  Payne  Knight's  opinion 
that  the  Marbles  went  down  in  the  public  estimation, 
the  Government  hesitated  to  buy  them  for  the  nation, 
and  they  were  left  neglected  in  a  damp  shed.  Haydon 
was  furious  at  this  insult  to  the  objects  of  his  idolatry, 
whose  merits  he  had  been  preaching  in  season  and  out 
of  season  since  the  day  that  he  first  set  eyes  upon  the 
Theseus  and  the  Ilissus.  At  this  critical  moment  he 
found  himself  supported  by  a  new  and  powerful  champion 
in  the  person  of  Canova,  who  had  just  arrived  in  Eng- 
land. Canova  at  once  admitted  that  the  style  of  the 
Marbles  was  superior  to  that  of  all  other  known  marbles, 
and  declared  that  they  were  well  worth  coming  from 
Rome  to  see.  'Canova's  visit  was  a  victory  for  me,' 
writes  Haydon,  who  had  received  the  sculptor  at  his 
studio,  and  introduced  him  to  some  of  the  artistic  lions 
of  London.  '  What  became  now  of  all  the  sneers  at  my 
senseless  insanity  about  the  Marbles  ?  I,  unknown,  with 
no  station  or  rank,  might  have  talked  myself  dumb ;  but 
for  Canova,  the  great  artist  of  Europe,  to  repeat  word 
for  word  what  I  had  been  saying  for  seven  years !  His 
opinion  could  not  be  gainsaid.** 

If  our  troubles  are  apt  to  come  not  in  single  file,  but 
in   '  whole   battalions,'   our   triumphs    also   occasionally 
arrive  in  squadrons,  or  such  at  least  was  Haydon's  ex- 
26 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

perience.  Hard  upon  Canova's  departure  came  a  letter 
from  Wordsworth,  enclosing  three  sonnets,  the  last  of 
which  had,  he  avowed,  been  inspired  by  a  letter  of 
Haydon's  on  the  struggles  and  hardships  of  the  artist's 
life.  This  is  now  the  familiar  sonnet  beginning,  '  High 
is  our  calling,  Friend,'  and  concluding: 

'Great  is  the  glory,  for  the  strife  is  hard.' 

*  Now,  reader,'  writes  the  delighted  recipient, '  was  not 
this  glorious?  And  you,  young  student,  when  you  are 
pressed  down  by  want  in  the  midst  of  a  great  work,  remem- 
ber what  followed  Haydon's  perseverance.  The  freedom  of 
his  native  town,  the  visit  of  Canova,  and  the  sonnet  of 
Wordsworth,  and  if  that  do  not  cheer  you  up,  and  make 
you  go  on,  you  are  past  all  hope.  ...  It  had,  indeed, 
been  a  wonderful  year  for  me.  The  Academicians  were 
silenced.  All  classes  were  so  enthusiastic  and  so  delighted 
that,  though  I  had  lost  seven  months  with  weak  eyes, 
and  had  only  accomplished  The  Penitent  Girl,  The 
Mother,  The  Centurion  and  the  Samaritan  Woman,  yet 
they  were  considered  so  decidedly  in  advance  of  all  I 
had  yet  done,  that  my  painting-room  was  crowd  by  rank, 
beauty,  and  fashion,  and  the  picture  was  literally  taken 
up  as  an  honour  to  the  nation.' 

But,  alas  !  neither  the  sonnets  of  poets  nor  the  homage 
of  the  great  would  pay  for  models  and  colours,  or  put 
bread  into  the  artist's  mouth.  Haydon  could  only  live 
by  renewed  borrowing,  for  which  method  of  support  he 
endeavours,  without  much  success,  to  excuse  himself. 
Once  in  the  clutches  of  professional  money-lenders,  he 
confesses  that  '  the  fine  edge  of  honour  was  dulled. 
Though  my  honourable  discharge  of  what  I  borrowed 
justified  my  borrowing  again,  yet  it  is  a  fallacious  relief, 

27 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

because  you  must  stop  sooner  or  later;  if  you  are 
punctual,  and  if  you  can  pay  in  the  long-run,  why  incur 
the  debt  at  all  ?  Too  proud  to  do  small,  modest  things, 
that  I  might  obtain  fair  means  of  subsistence  as  I  pro- 
ceeded with  my  great  work,  I  thought  it  no  degradation 
to  borrow,  to  risk  the  insult  of  refusal,  and  be  bated 
down  like  the  meanest  dealer.  Then  I  was  liberal  in  my 
art ;  I  spared  no  expense  for  casts  and  prints,  and  did 
great  things  for  the  art  by  means  of  them.  .  .  .  Ought  I, 
after  such  efforts  as  I  had  made,  to  have  been  left  in  this 
position  by  the  Directors  of  the  British  Gallery  or  the 
Government  ? ' 

The  year  1816  was  distinguished  in  Haydon''s  life  as 
the  epoch  of  his  first,  or,  more  accurately,  his  last  serious 
love-affair.  He  was  of  a  susceptible  temperament,  and 
seems  to  have  been  a  favourite  with  women,  whom  he 
inspired  with  his  own  strong  belief  in  himself;  but  he 
demanded  much  of  the  woman  who  was  to  be  his  wife, 
and  hitherto  he  had  not  found  one  who  seemed  worthy 
of  that  exalted  position.  He  had  long  been  acquainted 
with  Maria  Foote,  the  actress,  for  whom  he  entertained 
a  qualified  admiration,  and  by  her  he  was  taken  one  day 
to  a  friend's  house  where,  '  In  one  instant,  the  loveliest 
face  that  was  ever  created  since  God  made  Eve,  smiled 
gently  at  my  approach.  The  effect  of  her  beauty  was 
instantaneous.  On  the  sofa  lay  a  dying  man  and  a  boy 
about  two  years  old.     We  shortly  took  leave.     I  never 

spoke  a  word,  and  after  seeing  M home,  I  returned 

to  the  house,  and  stood  outside,  in  hopes  that  she  would 
appear  at  the  window.  I  went  home,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  was  really,  heartily,  thoroughly,  passion- 
ately in  love.  I  hated  my  pictures.  I  hated  the  Elgin 
Marbles.  I  hated  books.  I  could  not  eat,  or  sleep,  or 
28 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

think,  or  write,  or  talk.  I  got  up  early,  examined  the 
premises  and  street,  and  gave  a  man  half-a-crown  to  let 
me  sit  concealed,  and  watch  for  her  coming  out.  Day 
after  day  I  grew  more  and  more  enraptured,  till  resistance 
was  relinquished  with  a  glorious  defiance  of  restraint. 
Her  conduct  to  her  dying  husband,  her  gentle  reproof  of 
my  impassioned  air,  riveted  my  being.  But  I  must  not 
anticipate.  Sufficient  for  the  present,  O  reader,  is  it  to 
tell  thee  that  B.  R.  Haydon  is,  and  for  ever  will  be,  in 
love  with  that  woman,  and  that  she  is  his  wife.' 

The  first  note  that  Haydon  has  preserved  from  his 
friend  Keats  is  dated  November  1816,  and  runs  : 

*  My  dear  Sir, — Last  evening  wrought  me  up,  and  I 
cannot  forbear  sending  you  the  following. — Yours  imper- 
fectly, John  Keats.' 

The  '  following '  was  nothing  less  than  the  noble  sonnet, 
beginning — 'Great  spirits  now  on  earth  are  sojourning,** 
with  an  allusion  to  Haydon  in  the  lines : 

*  And  lo  !  whose  steadfastness  would  never  take 
A  meaner  sound  than  Raphael's  whispering.* 

Haydon  wrote  an  enthusiastic  letter  of  thanks,  gave 
the  young  poet  some  good  advice,  and  promised  to  send 
his  sonnet  to  Wordsworth.  *  Keats,**  he  records,  *  was  the 
only  man  I  ever  met  who  seemed  and  looked  conscious 
of  a  high  calling,  except  Wordsworth.  Byron  and  Shelley 
were  always  sophisticating  about  their  verses ;  Keats 
sophisticated  about  nothing.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  do  great  things,  and  when  he  found  that  by  his  con- 
nection with  the  Examiner  clique  he  had  brought  upon 
himself  an  overwhelming  outcry  of  unjust  aversion,  he 
shrank  up  into  himself,  his  diseased  tendencies  showed 

29 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

themselves,  and  he  died  a  victim  to  mistakes,  on  the  part 
of  friends  and  enemies  alike.  "* 

Haydon  gives  a  curious  account  of  his  first  meeting 
with  Shelley,  which  took  place  in  the  course  of  this  year. 
The  occasion  was  a  dinner-party  at  James  Smith's  house, 
when  Keats  and  Horace  Smith  were  also  among  the 
guests.  '  I  seated  myself,"  writes  Haydon,  *  right  opposite 
Shelley,  as  I  was  told  afterwards,  for  I  did  not  then  know 
what  hectic,  spare,  weakly,  yet  intellectual-looking 
creature  it  was,  carving  a  bit  of  broccoli  or  cabbage  in 
his  plate,  as  if  it  had  been  the  substantial  wing  of  a 
chicken.  In  a  few  minutes  Shelley  opened  the  conversa- 
tion by  saying  in  the  most  feminine  and  gentle  voice,  "  As 

to  that  detestable  religion,  the  Christian "     I  looked 

astounded,  but  casting  a  glance  round  the  table,  I  easily 
saw  that  I  was  to  be  set  at  that  evening  vi  et  armis.  .  .  . 
I  felt  like  a  stag  at  bay,  and  resolved  to  gore  without 
mercy.  Shelley  said  the  Mosaic  and  Christian  dispensa- 
tion were  inconsistent.  I  swore  they  were  not,  and  that 
the  Ten  Commandments  had  been  the  foundation  of  all 
the  codes  of  law  on  the  earth.  Shelley  denied  it.  I 
affirmed  they  were,  neither  of  us  using  an  atom  of  logic."" 
This  edifying  controversy  continued  until  all  parties  grew 
very  warm,  and  said  unpleasant  things  to  one  another. 
After  this  dinner,  Haydon  made  up  his  mind  to  subject 
himself  no  more  to  the  chance  of  these  discussions,  but 
gradually  to  withdraw  from  this  freethinking  circle. 

The  chief  artistic  events  of  the  year,  from  our  hero's 
point  of  view,  were,  the  final  settlement  of  the  Elgin 
Marbles  question,  and  his  own  attempt  to  found  a  school. 
The  Committee  appointed  by  Government  to  examine 
and  report  upon  the  Marbles  refused  to  call  Haydon  as  a 
witness  on  Lord  Elgin's  side,  but  the  artist  embodied  his 
30 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

views  on  the  subject  in  a  paper  which  appeared  in  both 
the  Examiner  and  the  Champion.  This  article,  which 
was  afterwards  translated  into  French  and  Italian,  con- 
tained a  scathing  attack  on  Payne  Knight,  and  was  said 
by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  to  have  saved  the  Elgin 
Marbles,  and  ruined  Haydon.  However  this  may  be, 
the  Government,  it  will  be  remembered,  decided  to  buy 
the  treasures  for  ^35,000,  a  sum  considerably  less  than 
that  which  Lord  Elgin  had  spent  on  bringing  them  to 
England. 

The  School  of  Haydon  was  first  instituted  with  three 
distinguished  pupils  in  the  persons  of  the  three  Land- 
seer  brothers,  to  whom  were  afterwards  added  William 
Bewick,  Eastlake,  Harvey,  Lance,  and  Chatfield.  Haydon 
set  his  disciples  to  draw  from  the  Raphael  Cartoons, 
two  of  which  were  brought  up  from  Hampton  Court  to 
the  British  Gallery,  and,  as  soon  as  they  were  sufficiently 
advanced,  he  sent  them  to  the  Museum  to  draw  from 
the  Elgin  Marbles.  '  Their  cartoons,''  he  writes,  '  drawn 
full  size,  of  the  Fates,  of  Theseus  and  the  Ilissus,  literally 
made  a  noise  in  Europe.  An  order  came  from  the  great 
Goethe  at  Weimar  for  a  set  for  his  own  house,  the 
furniture  of  which  having  been  since  bought  by  the 
Government,  and  the  house  kept  up  as  it  was  in  Goethe''s 
time,  the  cartoons  of  my  pupils  are  thus  preserved, 
whilst  in  England  the  rest  are  lying  about  in  cellars 
and  corners.'  The  early  days  of  the  School  thus  held  out 
a  promise  for  the  future,  which  unfortunately  was  not 
fulfilled.  Haydon  contrived  to  involve  two  or  three  of 
his  pupils  in  his  own  financial  embarrassments,  by  inducing 
them  to  sign  accommodation  bills,  a  proceeding  which 
broke  up  the  establishment,  and  brought  a  lasting  stain 
upon  his  reputation. 

91 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

In  1817  Haydon  was  introduced  to  Miss  Mitford,  who 
greatly  admired  his  work,  and  a  warm  friendship  sprang 
up  between  the  pair.  In  May,  Miss  Mitford  wrote  to 
Sir  WilHam  Elford :  '  The  charm  of  the  Exhibition  is  a 
chalk-drawing  by  Mr.  Haydon  taken,  as  he  tells  me, 
from  a  mother  who  had  lost  her  child.  It  is  the  very 
triumph  of  expression.  I  have  not  yet  lost  the  im- 
pression which  it  made  upon  my  mind  and  senses,  and 
which  vented  itself  in  a  sonnet.'  A  visit  to  the  studio 
followed,  and  Miss  Mitford  was  charmed  with  the  room, 
the  books,  the  great  unfinished  picture,  and  the  artist 
himself — with  his  bonhomie ,  naivete,  and  enthusiasm. 
With  all  her  heart  she  admires  the  noble,  independent 
spirit  of  Haydon,  who,  she  declares,  is  quite  one  of  the 
old  heroes  come  to  life  again — one  of  Shakespeare's  men, 
full  of  spirit,  endurance,  and  moral  courage.  She  con- 
cludes her  account  with  an  expression  of  regret  that  he 
should  be  'such  a  fright.'  Now  Haydon  is  generally 
described  by  his  contemporaries  as  a  good-looking  man, 
though  short  in  stature,  with  an  antique  head,  aquiline 
features,  and  fine  dark  eyes.  His  later  portraits  are 
chiefly  remarkable  for  the  immensely  wide  mouth  with 
which  he  seems  to  be  endowed,  but  in  an  early  sketch 
by  Wilkie  he  is  represented  as  a  picturesque  youth  with 
an  admirably  modelled  profile. 

To  Miss  Mitford  we  owe  a  quaint  anecdote  of  our  hero, 
which,  better  than  pages  of  analysis,  depicts  the  man. 
It  appears  that  Leigh  Hunt,  who  was  a  great  keeper  of 
birthdays  and  other  anniversaries,  took  it  into  his  head 
to  celebrate  the  birthday  of  Papa  Haydn  by  giving  a 
dinner,  drinking  toasts,  and  crowning  the  composer's 
bust  with  laurels.  Some  malicious  person  told  Haydon 
that  the  Hunts  were  celebrating  his  birthday,  a  com- 

m 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

pliment  that  struck  him  as  natural  and  well  deserved. 
Hastening  to  Hampstead,  he  broke  in  upon  the  company, 
and  addressed  to  them  a  formal  speech,  in  which  he 
thanked  them  for  the  honour  they  had  done  him, 
but  explained  that  they  had  made  a  little  mistake  in 
the  day !  As  a  pendant  to  this  anecdote,  Miss  Mitford 
relates  that  Haydon  told  her  he  had  painted  the  head  of 
his  Christ  seven  times,  and  that  the  final  head  was  a 
portrait  of  himself.  It  is  only  fair  to  remember  that  he 
always  regarded  it  as  the  least  successful  part  of  the 
work. 

While  the  picture  was  in  progress,  Haydon  decided  to 
put  in  a  side  group  with  Voltaire  as  a  sceptic,  and 
Newton  as  a  believer.  This  idea,  founded  on  the  inten- 
tional anachronisms  of  some  of  the  old  masters,  was 
afterwards  extended,  Hazlitt  being  introduced  as  an 
investigator,  and  Wordsworth  bowing  in  reverence,  with 
Keats  in  the  background.  The  two  poets  had  never  yet 
met  in  actual  life,  but  in  December  1817,  Wordsworth 
being  then  on  a  visit  to  London,  Haydon  invited  Keats 
to  meet  him.  The  other  guests  were  Charles  Lamb  and 
Monkhouse.  'Wordsworth  was  in  fine  cue,"*  writes 
Haydon,  'and  we  had  a  glorious  set-to — on  Homer, 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Virgil.  Lamb  got  exceedingly 
merry,  and  exquisitely  witty,  and  his  fun,  in  the  midst  of 
Wordsworth*'s  solemn  intonations  of  oratory,  was  like  the 
sarcasm  and  wit  of  the  fool  in  the  intervals  of  Lear'^s 
passion.'  Although  the  specimens  of  wit  recorded  no 
longer  seem  inspired,  we  can  well  believe  Haydon's  state- 
ment that  it  was  an  immortal  evening,  and  that  in  all  his 
life  he  never  passed  a  more  delightful  time.  We  have 
abundant  testimony  to  the  fact  that  the  artist-host  was 
himself  an  exceptionally  fine  talker.  Hazlitt  said  that 
c  33 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

'  Haydon  talked  well  on  most  subjects  that  interest  one ; 
indeed,  better  than  any  painter  I  ever  met."*  Words- 
worth and  Talfourd  echoed  this  opinion,  and  Miss 
Mitford  tells  us  that  he  was  a  most  brilliant  talker — 
racy,  bold,  original,  and  vigorous,  'a  sort  of  Benvenuto 
Cellini,  all  air  and  fire."* 

It  was  not  until  January  1820  that  the  'Entry  into 
Jerusalem'  was  finished,  when  the  artist,  though  absol- 
utely penniless,  engaged  the  great  room  at  the  Egyptian 
Hall  for  its  exhibition,  at  a  rent  of  ^^300.  His  friends 
helped  him  over  the  incidental  expenses,  and  in  a  state 
of  feverish  excitement  he  awaited  the  opening  day. 
Public  curiosity  had  been  aroused  about  the  work,  and 
early  in  the  afternoon  there  was  a  block  of  carriages  in 
Piccadilly;  the  passage  was  thronged  with  servants, 
and  soon  the  artist  was  holding  what  he  described  as  a 
'  regular  rout  at  noonday.'  While  Keats  and  Hazlitt  were 
rejoicing  in  a  corner,  Mrs.  Siddons  swept  in,  and  in  her 
loud,  deep,  tragic  tones,  declared  that  the  head  of  Christ 
was  completely  successful.  By  her  favourable  verdict, 
Haydon,  who  had  his  doubts,  was  greatly  consoled,  not 
because  Mrs.  Siddons  had  any  reputation  as  an  art- 
critic,  but  because  he  recognised  that  she  was  an  expert 
on  the  subject  of  dramatic  expression.  A  thousand 
pounds  was  offered  for  the  picture  and  refused,  while  the 
net  profits  from  the  exhibition,  in  London  alone, 
amounted  to  c£'1300.  Haydon  has  been  commonly 
represented  as  an  unlucky  man,  who  was  always  neglected 
by  the  public  and  the  patrons,  and  never  met  with  his 
professional  deserts.  But  up  to  this  time,  as  has  been 
seen,  he  had  found  ready  sympathy  and  admiration  from 
the  public,  practical  aid  during  the  time  of  struggle  from 
his  friends,  and  a  fair  reward  for  his  labours.     With  the 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

exhibition  of  the  '  Entry  into  Jerusalem,'  his  reputation 
was  at  its  zenith ;  a  little  skilful  engineering  of  the 
success  thus  gained  might  have  extricated  him  from  his 
difficulties,  and  enabled  him  to  keep  his  head  above 
water  for  the  remainder  of  his  days.  But,  owing  chiefly 
to  his  own  impracticability,  his  story  from  this  point  is 
one  of  decline,  gradual  at  first,  but  increasing  in  velocity, 
until  the  end  came  in  disaster  and  despair. 


PART   II 

Even  while  Haydon  was  in  the  first  flush  of  his  success, 
there  were  signs  that  he  had  achieved  no  lasting  triumph. 
Sir  George  Beaumont  proposed  that  the  British  Gallery 
should  buy  the  great  picture,  but  the  Directors  refused 
to  give  the  price  asked — i?2000.  An  effort  to  sell  it  by 
subscription  fell  through,  only  ^^200  being  paid  into 
Coutts'.  When  the  exhibition  closed  in  London,  Haydon 
took  his  masterpiece  to  Scotland,  and  showed  it  both  in 
Edinburgh  and  in  Glasgow,  netting  another  ^C^OO, 
which,  however,  was  quickly  eaten  up  by  hungry 
creditors.  The  picture  was  too  big  to  tempt  a  private 
purchaser,  and  in  spite  of  the  admiration  it  had  aroused, 
it  remained  like  a  white  elephant  upon  its  creator's 
hands. 

On  his  return  to  town,  after  being  feted  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  Lock  hart,  and  '  Christopher  North,'  Haydon 
finished  his  commission  for  Sir  George  Phillips,  *  Christ 
Sleeping  in  the  Garden,'  which,  he  frankly  admitted,  was 
one  of  the  worst  pictures  he  ever  painted.     Scarcely  waa 

35 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

this  off  his  easel  than  he  was  inspired  with  a  tremendous 
conception  for  the  '  Raising  of  Lazarus.'  He  ordered  a 
canvas  such  as  his  soul  loved,  nineteen  feet  long  by  fifteen 
high,  and  dashed  in  his  first  idea.  He  was  still  deeply  in 
debt,  still  desperately  in  love  (his  lady  was  now  a  widow), 
and  the  new  picture  would  take  at  least  two  years  to  paint. 
Nevertheless,  he  worked  away  with  all  his  customary 
energy,  and  prayed  fervently  that  he  might  paint  a  great 
masterpiece,  never  doubting  but  that  his  prayers  would 
be  heard. 

With  the  end  of  this  year,  1820,  Haydon''s  Autobio- 
graphy breaks  off,  and  the  rest  of  his  life  is  told  in  his 
Journals  and  Letters.  At  the  beginning  of  1821,  when 
he  was  fairly  at  work  on  his  Lazarus,  he  confides  to  his 
Journal  his  conviction  that  difficulties  are  to  be  his  lot 
in  pecuniary  matters,  and  adds  :  '  My  plan  must  be  to 
make  up  my  mind  to  meet  them,  and  fag  as  I  can — to 
lose  no  single  moment,  but  seize  on  time  that  is  free 
from  disturbance,  and  make  the  most  of  it.  If  I  can 
float,  and  keep  alive  attention  to  my  situation  through 
another  picture,  I  will  reach  the  shore.  I  am  now  clearly 
in  sight  of  it,  and  I  will  yet  land  to  the  sound  of 
trumpets,  and  the  shouts  of  my  friends.' 

In  spite  of  his  absorption  in  his  work,  Haydon  found 
time  for  the  society  of  his  literary  friends.  On  March  7,  he 
records :  '  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Lamb,  Wilkie,  and  Procter 
have  been  with  me  all  the  morning,  and  a  delightful 
morning  we  have  had.  Scott  operated  on  us  like  cham- 
pagne and  whisky  mixed.  ...  It  is  singular  how  success 
and  the  want  of  it  operate  on  two  extraordinary  men, 
Walter  Scott  and  Wordsworth.  Scott  enters  a  room 
and  sits  at  table  with  the  coolness  and  self-possession  of 
conscious  fame ;  Wordsworth  with  a  mortified  elevation 
36 


BENJAMIN  ROBEUT  ttAYDON 

of  the  head,  as  if  fearful  he  was  not  estimated  as  he 
deserved.  Scott  can  afford  to  talk  of  trifles,  because  he 
knows  the  world  will  think  him  a  great  man  who  con- 
descends to  trifle  ;  Wordsworth  must  always  be  eloquent 
and  profound,  because  he  knows  that  he  is  considered 
childish  and  puerile.  ...  I  think  that  Scotfs  success 
would  have  made  Wordsworth  insuff*erable,  while  Words- 
worth's failures  would  not  have  rendered  Scott  a  whit 
less  delightful.  Scott  is  the  companion  of  Nature  in 
all  her  moods  and  freaks,  while  Wordsworth  follows 
her  like  an  apostle,  sharing  her  sojemn  moods  and 
impressions.' 

In  these  rough  notes,  unusual  powers  of  observation 
and  insight  into  character  are  displayed.  That  Haydon 
also  had  a  keen  sense  of  humour  is  proved  by  his  account 
of  an  evening  at  Mrs.  Siddons'  where  the  hostess  read 
aloud  Macbeth  to  her  guests.  '  She  acts  Macbeth  herself 
much  better  than  either  Kemble  or  Kean,"*  he  writes.  *  It 
is  extraordinary  the  awe  that  this  wonderful  woman 
inspires.  After  her  first  reading  the  men  retired  to  tea. 
While  we  were  all  eating  toast  and  tinkling  cups  and 
saucers,  she  began  again.  It  was  like  the  effect  of  a 
mass-bell  at  Madrid.  All  noise  ceased ;  we  slunk  to  our 
seats  like  boors,  two  or  three  of  the  most  distinguished 
men  of  the  day,  with  the  very  toast  in  their  mouths, 
afraid  to  bite.  It  was  curious  to  sec  Lawrence  in  this 
predicament,  to  hear  him  bite  by  degrees,  and  then  stop, 
for  fear  of  making  too  much  crackle,  his  eyes  full  of 
water  from  the  constraint ;  and  at  the  same  time  to  hear 
Mrs.  Siddons'  *  eye  of  newt  and  toe  of  frog,'  and  to  see 
Lawrence  give  a  sly  bite,  and  then  look  awed,  and  pretend 
to  be  listening.' 

In   the    spring  of  I82I   Haydon    lost   two   intimate 

87 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

friends,  John  Scott,  who  was  killed  by  Christie  in  the 
Blackwood  duel,  and  Keats,  who  died  at  Rome  on 
February  23.  He  briefly  sums  up  his  impressions  of  the 
dead  poet  in  his  Journal.  '  In  fireside  conversation  he 
was  weak  and  inconsistent,  but  he  was  in  his  glory  in  the 
fields.  .  .  .  He  was  the  most  unselfish  of  human  creatures  : 
unadapted  to  this  world,  he  cared  not  for  himself,  and 
put  himself  to  inconvenience  for  the  sake  of  his  friends. 
He  had  an  exquisite  sense  of  humour,  and  too  refined  a 
notion  of  female  purity  to  bear  the  little  arts  of  love 
with  patience.  .  .  .  He  began  life  full  of  hopes,  fiery, 
impetuous,  ungovernable,  expecting  the  world  to  fall  at 
once  beneath  his  powers.  Unable  to  bear  the  sneers  of 
ignorance  or  the  attacks  of  envy,  he  began  to  despond, 
and  flew  to  dissipation  as  a  relief.  For  six  weeks  he  was 
scarcely  sober,  and  to  show  what  a  man  does  to  gratify 
his  appetites  when  once  they  get  the  better  of  him,  he 
once  covered  his  tongue  and  throat,  as  far  as  he  could 
reach,  with  Cayenne  pepper,  in  order  to  appreciate  the 
"  delicious  coldness  of  claret  in  all  its  glory "''' — his  own 
expression.' 

June  22,  1821,  is  entered  in  the  Journal  as  '  A  remark- 
able day  in  my  life.  I  am  arrested ! '  This  incident, 
unfortunately,  became  far  too  common  in  after-days  to 
be  at  all  remarkable,  but  the  first  touch  of  the  bailiff^s 
hand  was  naturally  something  of  a  shock,  and  Haydon 
filled  three  folio  pages  with  angry  comments  on  the 
iniquity  of  the  laws  against  debtors.  He  was  able, 
however,  to  arrange  the  affair  before  night,  and  the 
sheriff's  officer,  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep  him  in  safe 
custody  during  the  day,  was  so  profoundly  impressed  by 
the  sight  of  the  Lazarus,  that  he  allowed  his  prisoner  to 
go  free  on  parole.     This  incident  has  been   likened  to 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

that  of  the  bravoes  arrested  in  their  murderous  intent 
by  the  organ-playing  of  Stradella ;  and  also  to  the  case 
of  the  soldiers  of  the  Constable  who,  when  sacking  Rome, 
broke  into  Parmigiano's  studio,  but  were  so  struck  by 
the  beauty  of  his  pictures  that  they  protected  him  and 
his  property. 

In  despite  of  debts,  difficulties,  and  the  lack  of  com- 
missions, Haydon,  who  had  now  been  in  love  for  five 
years,  was  married  on  October  10,  1821,  to  the  young 
widow,  Mary  Hyman,  who  was  blessed  with  two  children, 
and  a  jointure  of  fifty  pounds  a  year.  His  Journal  for 
this  period  is  full  of  raptures  over  his  blissful  state,  as 
also  are  his  letters  to  his  friends.  To  Miss  Mitford  he 
writes  from  Windsor,  where  the  honeymoon  was  spent : 
*  Here  I  am,  sitting  by  my  dearest  Mary  with  all  the 
complacency  of  a  well-behaved  husband,  writing  to  you 
while  she  is  working  quietly  on  some  unintelligible  part 
of  a  lady''s  costume.  You  do  not  know  how  proud  I  am 
of  saying  my  wife,  I  never  felt  half  so  proud  of  Solomon 
or  Macbeth,  as  I  am  of  being  the  husband  of  this  tender 
little  bit  of  lovely  humanity.  .  .  .  There  never  was  such 
a  creature;  and  although  her  face  is  perfect,  and  has 
more  feeling  in  it  than  Lady  Hamilton's,  her  manner 
to  me  is  perfectly  enchanting,  and  more  bewitching  than 
her  beauty.  I  think  I  shall  put  over  my  painting-room 
door,  "Love,  solitude,  and  painting.'"  On  the  last  day 
of  the  year,  according  to  his  wont,  Haydon  sums  up  his 
feelings  and  impressions  of  the  past  twelve  months.  *  I 
don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  get  less  reflective  as  I  get 
older.  I  seem  to  take  things  as  they  come  without 
thought.  Perhaps  being  married  to  my  dearest  Mary, 
and  having  no  longer  anything  to  hope  in  love,  I  get 
more  content  with  my  lot,  which,  God  knows,  is  rapturous 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

beyond  imagination.  Here  I  sit  sketching,  with  the 
loveliest  face  before  me,  smiling  and  laughing,  and  "  soli- 
tude is  not."  Marriage  has  increased  my  happiness 
beyond  expression.  In  the  intervals  of  study,  a  few 
minutes'*  conversation  with  a  creature  one  loves  is  the 
greatest  of  all  reliefs.  God  bless  us  both  !  My  pecuniary 
difficulties  are  great,  but  my  love  is  intense,  my  ambition 
is  intense,  and  my  hope  in  God's  protection  cheering. 
Bewick,  my  pupil,  has  realised  my  hopes  in  his  picture 
of  ""  Jacob  and  Rachel."  But  it  is  cold  work  talking  of 
pupils  when  one"'s  soul  is  full  of  a  beloved  woman !  I 
am  really  and  truly  in  love,  and  without  affectation,  I 
can  talk,  write,  or  think  of  nothing  else.' 

But  if  a  love-match  brings  increased  happiness,  it  also 
brings  weightier  cares  and  responsibilities.  Haydon's 
credit  had  been  in  a  measure  restored  by  the  success  of 
his  last  picture,  but  his  creditors  seemed  to  resent  his 
marriage,  and  during  the  months  that  followed,  gave 
him  little  peace.  He  was  obliged,  in  the  intervals  of 
painting,  to  rush  hither  and  thither  to  pacify  this 
creditor,  quiet  the  fears  of  that,  remove  the  ill-will  of  a 
third,  and  borrow  money  at  usurious  interest  from  a 
fourth  in  order  to  keep  his  engagements  with  a  fifth.  In 
spite  of  all  his  compromises  and  arrangements,  he  was 
arrested  more  than  once  during  this  year,  but  so  far  he 
had  been  able  to  keep  out  of  prison.  His  favourite 
pupil  Bewick,  who  sat  to  him  for  the  head  of  Lazarus 
(being  appropriately  pale  and  thin  from  want  of  food) 
has  left  an  account  of  the  difficulties  under  which  the 
picture  was  painted.  '  I  think  I  see  the  painter  before 
me,'  he  writes,  *  his  palette  and  brushes  in  the  left  hand, 
returning  from  the  sheriff's  officer  in  the  adjoining  room, 
pale,  calm,  and  serious — no  agitation — mounting  his 
40 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

high  steps  and  continuing  his  arduous  task,  and  as  he 
looks  round  to  his  pallid  model,  whispering,  "Egad, 
Bewick,  I  have  just  been  arrested ;  that  is  the  third  time. 
If  they  come  again,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  on."'* 

On  December  7,  the  Lazarus  was  finished,  and  five 
days  later  Haydon's  eldest  son  Frank  was  born.  The 
happy  father  was  profoundly  moved  by  his  new  re- 
sponsibilities, as  well  as  by  his  wife's  suffering  and 
danger.  On  the  last  day  of  1822  he  thanks  his  Maker 
for  the  happiest  year  of  his  life,  and  also  *for  being 
permitted  to  finish  another  great  picture,  which  must 
add  to  my  reputation,  and  go  to  strengthen  the  art.  .  .  . 
Grant  it  triumphant  success.  Grant  that  I  may  soon 
begin  the  "  Crucifixion,*"  and  persevere  with  that,  until  I 
bring  it  to  a  conclusion  equally  positive  and  glorious.** 
Haydon's  prayers,  which  have  been  not  inaptly  described 
as  '  begging  letters  to  the  Almighty,"*  are  invariably 
couched  in  terms  that  would  be  appropriate  in  an  appeal 
to  the  President  of  a  Celestial  Academy.  As  his  bio- 
grapher points  out,  he  prayed  as  though  he  would  take 
heaven  by  storm,  and  although  he  often  asked  for 
humility,  the  demands  for  this  gift  bore  very  little 
proportion  to  those  for  glories  and  triumphs. 

The  Lazarus,  though  it  showed  signs  of  haste  and 
exaggeration,  natural. enough  considering  the  conditions 
under  which  it  was  painted,  was  acclaimed  as  a  great  work, 
and  the  receipts  from  its  exhibition  were  of  a  most  satis- 
factory nature,  mounting  up  to  nearly  two  hundred 
pounds  a  week.  Instead  of  calling  his  creditors  together, 
and  coming  to  some  arrangement  with  them,  Haydon, 
rendered  over-confident  by  success,  spent  his  time  in 
preparing  a  new  and  vaster  canvas  for  his  conception  of 
the  Crucifixion.     The  sight  of  crowds  of  people  paying 

41 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

their  shillings  to  view  the  Lazarus  roused  the  cupidity 
of  one  of  the  creditors,  who,  against  his  own  interests, 
killed  the  goose  that  was  laying  golden  eggs.  On  April 
13,  an  execution  was  put  in,  and  the  picture  was  seized. 
A  few  days  later  Hay  don  was  arrested,  and  carried  to 
the  King's  Bench,  his  house  was  taken  possession  of,  and 
all  his  property  was  advertised  for  sale. 

On  April  22,  he  dates  the  entry  in  his  Journal, '  King''s 
Bench,'  and  consoles  himself  with  the  reflection  that 
Bacon,  Raleigh,  and  Cervantes  had  also  suffered  imprison- 
ment. His  friends  rallied  round  him  at  this  melancholy 
period.  Lord  Mulgrave,  Sir  George  Beaumont,  Scott 
and  Wilkie,  giving  not  only  sympathy  but  practical 
help.  At  his  forced  sale  a  portion  of  his  casts  and 
painting  materials  was  bought  in  by  his  friends  in  order 
that  he  might  be  enabled  to  set  to  work  again  as  soon  as 
he  was  released  from  prison.  A  meeting  of  creditors 
was  called,  and  Haydon  addressed  to  them  a  character- 
istic letter,  begging  to  be  spared  the  disgrace  of  '  taking 
the  Act,"  and  complaining  of  the  hardship  of  his  treat- 
ment in  being  torn  from  his  family  and  his  art,  after 
devoting  the  best  years  of  his  life  to  the  honour  of  his 
country.  But  as  the  creditors  cared  nothing  for  the 
honour  of  the  country,  he  was  compelled  to  pass  through 
the  Bankruptcy  Court,  and  on  July  25  he  regained  his 
freedom.  It  was  now  his  desire  to  return  to  his  dis- 
mantled house,  and,  without  a  bed  to  lie  upon,  or  a 
shilling  in  his  pocket,  to  finish  his  gigantic  '  Crucifixion.' 
But  his  wife,  the  long-suffering  Mary,  persuaded  him  to 
abandon  this  idea,  to  retire  to  modest  lodgings  for  a 
time,  and  to  paint  portraits  and  cabinet-pictures  until 
better  fortune  dawned. 

Haydon  yielded  to  her  desire,  but  he  never  ceased  to 
42 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

regret  what  he  considered  his  degradation.  He  would 
have  preferred  to  allow  his  friends  and  creditors  to 
support  himself  and  his  family,  while  he  worked  at  a 
canvas  of  unsaleable  size,  a  proceeding  that  most  men 
would  regard  as  involving  a  deeper  degradation  than 
painting  pot-boilers. 

Haydon  began  his  new  career  by  painting  the '  portrait 
of  a  gentleman.'  '  Ah,  my  poor  lay-figure,'  he  groans, 
*  he,  who  bore  the  drapery  of  Christ  and  the  grave-clothes 
of  Lazarus,  the  cloak  of  the  centurion  and  the  gown  of 
Newton,  was  to-day  disgraced  by  a  black  coat  and  waist- 
coat. I  apostrophised  him,  and  he  seemed  to  sympathise, 
and  bowed  his  head  as  if  ashamed  to  look  me  in  the 
face.'  Haydon's  detestation  of  portrait-painting  pro- 
bably arose  from  the  secret  consciousness  that  he  was  not 
successful  in  this  branch  of  his  art.  His  taste  for  the 
grandiose  led  him  to  depict  his  sitters  larger  than  life, 
if  not  'twice  as  natural.'  His  objection  to  painting 
small  pictures  was  partly  justified  by  his  weakness  of 
sight.  It  was  easy  for  him  to  dash  in  heads  on  a  large 
scale  in  a  frenzy  of  inspiration,  but  he  seemed  to  lack 
the  faculty  for  '  finish.'  The  faults  of  disproportion  and 
apparent  carelessness  that  disfigure  many  of  his  works, 
are  easily  accounted  for  by  his  method  of  painting,  which 
is  thus  described  by  his  son  Frederick,  who  often  acted 
as  artist's  model : — 

*  His  natural  sight  was  of  little  or  no  use  to  him  at  any 
distance,  and  he  would  wear,  one  over  the  other,  two  or 
three  pairs  of  large  round  concave  spectacles,  so  powerful 
as  greatly  to  diminish  objects.  He  would  mount  his 
steps,  look  at  you  through  one  pair  of  glasses,  then  push 
them  all  back  on  his  head,  and  paint  by  the  naked  eye 
close  to  the  canvas.     After  some  minutes  he  would  pull 

4S 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

down  one  pair  of  his  glasses,  look  at  you,  then  step  down, 
walk  slowly  backwards  to  the  wall,  and  study  the  effect 
through  one,  two,  or  three  pairs  of  spectacles ;  then  with 
one  pair  only  look  long  and  steadily  in  the  looking-glass 
at  the  side  to  examine  the  reflection  of  his  work ;  then 
mount  his  steps  and  paint  again.  How  he  ever  con- 
trived to  paint  a  head  or  limb  in  proportion  is  a  mystery 
to  me,  for  it  is  clear  that  he  had  lost  his  natural  sight  in 
boyhood.  He  is,  as  he  said,  the  first  blind  man  who  ever 
successfully  painted  pictures." 

Unfortunately,  Haydon's  self-denial  in  painting  por- 
traits was  not  well  rewarded,  for  commissions  were  few, 
and  the  clouds  began  to  gather  again.  One  of  his 
sitters  had  to  be  appealed  to  for  money  for  coals,  and  if 
such  appeals  were  frequent,  the  scarcity  of  sitters  was 
hardly  surprising.  On  one  occasion  he  pawned  all  his 
books,  except  a  few  old  favourites,  for  three  pounds,  and 
entries  like  the  following  are  of  almost  daily  occurrence 
in  the  Journal : — '  Obliged  to  go  out  in  the  rain,  I  left 
my  room  with  no  coals  in  it,  and  no  money  to  buy 
any.  .  .  .  Not  a  shilling  in  the  world.  Sold  nothing, 
and  not  likely  to.  Baker  called,  and  was  insolent.  If 
he  were  to  stop  the  supplies,  God  knows  what  would 
become  of  my  children !  Landlord  called — kind  and 
sorry.  Butcher  called,  respectful,  but  disappointed. 
Tailor  good  -  humoured,  and  willing  to  wait.  .  .  . 
Walked  about  the  town.  I  was  so  full  of  grief,  I 
could  not  have  concealed  it  at  home.' 

In  the  midst  of  all  his  harassing  anxieties,  Haydon 
was  untiring  in  his  efforts  to  obtain  employment  of  the 
heroic  kind  that  his  soul  craved.  He  had  begun  to 
realise  that  he  had  small  chance  of  disposing  of  huge 
historical  pictures  to  private  patrons,  and  that  his  only 
44 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

hope  rested  with  the  Government.  Even  while  confined 
in  prison  he  had  persuaded  Brougham  to  present  a 
petition  to  the  House  of  Commons  setting  forth  the 
desirability  of  appointing  a  Committee  to  inquire  into 
the  state  of  national  art,  and  by  a  regular  distribution 
of  a  small  portion  of  the  public  funds,  to  give  public 
encouragement  to  the  professors  of  historical  painting. 
No  sooner  did  he  regain  his  freedom  than  Haydon 
attacked  Sir  Charles  Long  with  a  plan  for  the  decoration 
of  the  great  room  of  the  Admiralty,  to  be  followed  by 
the  decoration  of  the  House  of  Lords  and  St.  PauPs 
Cathedral.  This  was  but  the  beginning  of  a  long  series 
of  impassioned  pleadings  with  public  men  in  favour  of 
national  employment  for  historical  painters.  Silence, 
snubs,  formal  acknowledgments,  curt  refusals,  all  were 
lost  upon  Haydon,  who  kept  pouring  in  page  after  page 
of  agonised  petition  on  Sir  Charles  Long,  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  Lord  Grey,  Lord  Melbourne,  and  Sir  Robert 
Peel,  and  seemed  to  be  making  no  way  with  any  of  them. 
Haydon  thought  himself  ill-used,  throughout  his 
life,  by  statesmen  and  patrons,  and  many  of  his 
friends  were  of  the  same  opinion.  But  both  he 
and  they  ignored  the  fact  that  it  is  impossible  to 
create  an  artificial  market  for  works  of  art  for  which 
there  is  no  spontaneous  popular  demand.  A  despotic 
prince  may,  if  he  chooses,  give  his  court  painter  carte 
blanche  for  the  decorations  of  national  buildings,  and 
gain  nothing  but  glory  for  his  liberality,  even  when  it  is 
exercised  at  the  expense  of  his  people.  But  in  a  country 
that  possesses  a  constitutional  government,  more  especially 
when  that  country  has  been  impoverished  by  long  and 
costly  wars,  the  minister  who  devotes  large  sums  to  the 
encouragement  of  national  art  has  the  indignation  of  an 

45 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

over-taxed  populace  to  reckon  with.  It  is  little  short  of 
an  insult  to  offer  men  historic  frescoes  when  they  are 
clamouring  for  bread.  Haydon  was  unfortunate  in  his 
period,  which  was  not  favourable  for  a  crusade  on  behalf 
of  high  art.  The  recent  pacification  of  the  Continent, 
and  the  opening  up  of  its  treasures,  tempted  English 
noblemen  and  plutocrats  to  invest  their  money  in  old 
masters  to  the  neglect  of  native  artists,  who  were  only 
thought  worthy  to  paint  portraits  of  their  patrons'  wives 
and  children.  We  who  have  inherited  the  Peel,  the 
Angerstein,  and  the  Hertford  collections,  can  scarcely 
bring:  ourselves  to  reojret  the  sums  that  were  lavished 
on  Flemish  and  Italian  masterpieces,  sums  that  might 
have  kept  our  Barrys  and  Haydons  from  bankruptcy. 

In  January  1824  Haydon  left  his  lodgings,  and  took 
the  lease  of  a  house  in  Connaught  Terrace,  for  which  he 
paid,  or  promised  to  pay,  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds 
a  year,  a  heavy  rent  for  a  recently  insolvent  artist. 
Fortunately,  he  acquired  with  the  house  a  landlord  of 
amazing  benevolence,  who  took  pot-boilers  in  lieu  of 
rent,  and  meekly  submitted  to  abuse  when  nothing  else 
was  forthcoming.  As  soon  as  he  was  fairly  settled, 
Haydon  arranged  the  composition  of  a  large  picture  of 
'  Pharaoh  dismissing  Moses,"*  upon  which  he  worked  in  the 
intervals  of  portrait-painting.  A  curious  and  obviously 
impartial  sketch  of  him,  as  he  appeared  at  this  time,  is 
drawn  by  Borrow  in  his  Lavengro.  The  hero's  elder 
brother  comes  up  to  town,  it  may  be  remembered,  to 
commission  a  certain  heroic  artist  to  paint  an  heroic 
picture  of  a  very  unheroic  mayor  of  Norwich.  The  two 
brothers  go  together  to  the  painter  of  Lazarus,  and  have 
some  difficulty  in  obtaining  admission  to  his  studio,  being 
mistaken  by  the  servant  for  duns.  They  found  a  man  of 
46 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

about  thirty-five,  with  a  clever,  intelligent  countenance, 
sharp  grey  eyes,  and  hair  cut  a  la  Raphael.  He  possessed, 
moreover,  a  broad  chest,  and  would  have  been  a  very  fine 
figure  if  his  legs  had  not  been  too  short.  He  was  then 
engaged  upon  his  Moses,  whose  legs,  in  Lavengro's  opinion, 
were  also  too  short.  His  eyes  glistened  at  the  mention 
of  a  hundred  pounds  for  the  mayor^s  portrait,  and  he 
admitted  that  he  was  confoundedly  short  of  money. 
The  painter  was  anxious  that  Lavengro  should  sit  to 
him  for  his  Plutarch,  which  honour  that  gentleman 
firmly  declined.  Years  afterwards  he  saw  the  por- 
trait of  the  mayor,  a  '  mighty  portly  man,  with  a  bull's 
head,  black  hair,  a  body  like  a  dray  horse,  and  legs  and 
thighs  corresponding ;  a  man  six  foot  high  at  the  least. 
To  his  bull's  head,  black  hair  and  body,  the  painter  had 
done  justice  ;  there  was  one  point,  however,  in  which  the 
portrait  did  not  correspond  with  the  original — the  legs 
were  disproportionately  short,  the  painter  having  sub- 
stituted his  own  legs  for  those  of  the  mayor,  which, 
when  I  perceived,  I  rejoiced  that  I  had  not  consented  to 
be  painted  as  Pharaoh,  for  if  I  had,  the  chances  are 
that  he  would  have  served  me  in  exactly  the  same  way  as 
he  had  served  Moses  and  the  mayor.' 

The  painting  of  provincial  mayors  was  so  little  to 
Haydon's  taste  that  by  the  close  of  this  year  we  find  him 
in  deep  depression  of  spirits,  unrelieved  by  even  a  spark 
of  his  old  sanguine  buoyancy.  '  I  candidly  confess,'  he 
writes,  *I  find  my  glorious  art  a  bore.  I  cannot  with 
pleasure  paint  any  individual  head  for  the  mere  purpose 
of  domestic  gratification.  I  must  have  a  great  subject 
to  excite  public  feeling.  .  .  .  Alas !  I  have  no  object  in 
life  now  but  my  wife  and  children,  and  almost  wish  I 
had  not  them,  that  I  might  sit  still  and  meditate  on 

47 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

human  grandeur  and  human  ambition  till  I  died.  ...  I 
am  not  yet  forty,  and  can  tell  of  a  destiny  melancholy 
and  rapturous,  bitter  beyond  all  bitterness,  cursed,  heart- 
breaking, maddening.  But  I  dare  not  write  now.  The 
melancholy  demon  has  grappled  my  heart,  and  crushed  its 
turbulent  beatings  in  his  black,  bony,  clammy,  clenching 
fingers.' 

It  was  just  when  things  seemed  at  their  darkest,  when 
the  waters  threatened  to  overwhelm  the  unfortunate 
artist,  that  a  rope  was  thrown  to  him.  His  legal  adviser, 
Mr.  Kearsley,  a  practical  and  prosperous  man,  came  for- 
ward with  an  offer  of  help.  He  agreed  to  provide  =£"300 
for  one  year  on  certain  conditions,  in  order  that  Haydon 
might  be  freed  from  pressure  for  that  period,  and  be  in 
a  position  to  ask  a  fair  price  for  his  work.  When  not 
engaged  on  portraits,  he  was  to  paint  historical  pictures 
of  a  saleable  size.  The  advance  was  to  be  secured  on  a 
life  insurance,  and  to  be  repaid  out  of  the  sale  of  the 
pictures,  with  interest  at  four  per  cent.  This  offer  was 
accepted  with  some  reluctance,  and  the  following  year 
was  one  of  comparative  peace  and  quiet.  The  Journal 
gives  evidence  of  greater  ease  of  mind,  and  renewed 
pleasure  in  work.  Haydon's  love  for  his  wife  waxed 
rather  than  waned  with  the  passing  of  the  years,  and  his 
children,  of  whom  he  too  soon  had  the  poor  man's  quiver- 
ful, were  an  ever-present  delight.  '  My  domestic  happiness 
is  doubled,'  he  writes  about  this  time.  '  Daily  and  hourly 
my  sweet  Mary  proves  the  justice  of  my  choice.  My 
boy  Frank  gives  tokens  of  being  gifted  at  two  years  old, 
God  bless  him !  My  ambition  would  be  to  make  him  a 
public  man.  ...  I  have  got  into  my  old  delightful  habits 
of  study  again.  The  mixture  of  literature  and  painting 
I  really  think  the  perfection  of  human  happiness.  I 
48 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

paint  a  head,  revel  in  colour,  hit  an  expression,  sit  down 
fatigued,  take  up  a  poet  or  historian,  write  my  own 
thoughts,  muse  on  the  thoughts  of  others,  and  horn's, 
troubles,  and  the  tortures  of  disappointed  ambition 
pass  and  are  forgotten.' 

Portraits,  and  one  or  two  commissions  for  small 
pictures,  kept  Haydon  afloat  throughout  this  year,  but 
a  widespread  commercial  distress  in  the  early  part  of 
1826  affected  his  gains,  and  in  February  he  records  that 
for  the  last  five  weeks  he  has  been  suffering  the  tortures 
of  the  Inferno.  He  was  persuaded,  much  against  his  will, 
to  send  his  pictures  to  the  Academy,  and  he  was  pro- 
portionately annoyed  at  the  adverse  criticism  that  greeted 
his  attempts  at  portraiture.  This  attack  he  regarded  as 
the  result  of  a  deep-laid  plot  to  injure  him  in  a  lucrative 
branch  of  his  art.  He  consoled  himself  by  beginning  a 
large  picture  of 'Alexander  taming  Bucephalus,"  the '  finest 
subject  on  earth."*  Through  his  friend  and  opposite 
neighbour,  Carew  the  sculptor,  Haydon  made  an  appeal 
to  Lord  Egremont,  that  generous  patron  of  the  arts,  for 
help  or  employment,  in  response  to  which  Lord  Egre- 
mont promised  to  call  and  see  the  Alexander.  There  is 
a  pathetic  touch  in  the  account  of  this  visit,  on  which  so 
much  depended.  Lord  Egremont  called  at  Carew^'s  house 
on  his  way,  and  Haydon,  who  saw  him  go  in,  relates  that 
*  Dear  Mary  and  I  were  walking  on  the  leads,  and  agreed 
that  it  would  not  be  quite  right  to  look  too  happy,  being 
without  a  sixpence ;  so  we  came  in,  I  to  the  parlour  to 
look  through  the  blinds,  and  she  to  the  nursery.'  Happily, 
the  patron  was  favourably  impressed  by  the  picture,  and 
promised  to  give  £600  for  it  when  it  was  finished.  In 
order  to  pay  his  models  Haydon  was  obliged  to  pawn  one 
of  his  two  lay-figures,  since  he  could  not  bring  himself 
D  49 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

to  part  with  any  more  books.  '  I  may  do  without  a  lay- 
figure  for  a  time,'  he  writes, '  but  not  without  old  Homer. 
The  truth  is  I  am  fonder  of  books  than  of  anything  on 
earth.  I  consider  myself  a  man  of  great  powers,  excited 
to  an  art  which  limits  their  exercise.  In  politics,  law, 
or  literature  they  would  have  had  a  full  and  glorious 
swing,  and  I  should  have  secured  a  competence.' 

The  fact  that  Haydon  was  more  at  home  among  the 
literary  men  of  his  acquaintance  than  among  his  fellow- 
artists  was  a  natural  result  of  his  intense  love  of  books, 
and  his  keen  interest  in  contemporary  history.  And  it 
is  evident  that  his  own  character  and  work  impressed 
his  poetical  friends,  for  we  find  that  not  only  Words- 
worth and  Keats,  but  Leigh  Hunt,  Charles  Lamb,  Miss 
Mitford,  and  Miss  Barrett  addressed  to  him  admiring 
verses.  For  Byron,  whom  he  never  knew,  Haydon 
cherished  an  ardent  admiration,  and  the  following  in- 
teresting passage,  comparing  that  poet  with  Wordsworth, 
occurs  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Miss  Mitford,  who  had 
criticised  Byron's  taste  : — 

'You  are  unjust,  depend  upon  it,'  he  writes,  'in  your 
estimate  of  Byron's  poetry,  and  wrong  in  ranking  Words- 
worth beyond  him.  There  are  things  in  Byron's  poetry 
so  exquisite  that  fifty  or  five  hundred  years  hence  they 
will  be  read,  felt,  and  adored  throughout  the  world.  I 
grant  that  Wordsworth  is  very  pure,  very  holy,  very 
orthodox,  and  occasionally  very  elevated,  highly  poetical, 
and  oftener  insufferably  obscure,  starched,  dowdy,  anti- 
human,  and  anti-sympathetic,  but  he  never  will  be  ranked 
above  Byron,  nor  classed  with  Milton.  ...  I  dislike  his 
selfish  Quakerism,  his  affectation  of  superior  virtue,  his 
utter  insensibility  to  the  frailties,  the  beautiful  frailties 
of  passion.  I  was  walking  with  him  once  in  Pall  Mall ;  we 
50 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

darted  into  Christie's.  In  the  comer  of  the  room  was  a 
beautiful  copy  of  the  "Cupid  and  Psyche""  (statues)  kissing. 
Cupid  is  taking  her  lovely  chin,  and  turning  her  pouting 
mouth  to  meet  his,  while  he  archly  bends  down,  as  if 
saying, "  Pretty  dear ! '''  .  .  .  Catching  sight  of  the  Cupid 
as  he  and  I  were  coming  out,  Wordsworth's  face  reddened, 
he  showed  his  teeth,  and  then  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "  The 
Dev-v-v'ils  f''  There's  a  mind  !  Ought  not  this  exquisite 
group  to  have  softened  his  heart  as  much  as  his  old, 
grey-mossed  rocks,  his  withered  thorn,  and  his  dribbling 
mountain  streams?  I  am  altered  very  much  about 
Wordsworth  from  finding  him  too  hard,  too  elevated, 
to  attend  to  the  voice  of  humanity.  No,  give  me  Byron 
with  all  his  spite,  hatred,  depravity,  dandyism,  vanity, 
frankness,  passion,  and  idleness,  rather  than  Wordsworth 
with  all  his  heartless  communion  with  woods  and  grass.' 

An  attempt  on  Haydon's  part  to  reconcile  himself 
with  his  old  enemies,  the  Academicians,  ended  in  failure. 
He  heads  his  account  of  the  transaction,  'The  dis- 
grace of  my  life.'  He  was  received  with  cold  civility 
by  the  majority  of  the  artists  to  whom  he  paid  con- 
ciliatory visits,  and  when  he  put  his  name  down  for 
election,  he  received  not  a  single  vote.  A  more  agreeable 
memory  of  this  year  was  a  visit  to  Petworth,  where,  as  he 
records,  with  Pepysian  naivete,  'Lord  Egremont  has  placed 
me  in  one  of  the  most  magnificent  bedrooms  I  ever  saw. 
It  speaks  more  of  what  he  thinks  of  my  talents  than  any- 
thing that  ever  happened  to  me.  .  .  .  What  a  destiny  is 
mine !  One  year  in  the  King's  Bench,  the  companion  of 
gamblers  and  scoundrels — sleeping  in  wretchedness  and 
dirt  on  a  flock -bed — another  reposing  in  down  and  velvet 
in  a  splendid  apartment  in  a  splendid  house,  the  guest  of 
rank,  fashion,  and  beauty.' 

51 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

Haydon's  painting-room  was  now,  as  he  loved  to  see 
it,  crowded  with  distinguished  visitors,  who  were  anxious 
to  inspect  the  picture  of  Alexander  before  it  was  sent  to 
the  Exhibition.  Among  them  came  Charles  Lamb,  who 
afterwards  set  down  some  impressions  and  suggestions  in 
the  following  characteristic  fashion : — 

'  Dear  Raffaele  Haydon, 

'  Did  the  maid  tell  you  I  came  to  see  your  picture  ? 
I  think  the  face  and  bearing  of  the  Bucephalus-tamer 
very  noble,  his  flesh  too  effeminate  or  painty.  ...  I 
had  small  time  to  pick  out  praise  or  blame,  for  two  lord- 
like Bucks  came  in,  upon  whose  strictures  my  presence 
seemed  to  impose  restraint ;  I  plebeian'd  off  therefore. 

'  I  think  I  have  hit  on  a  subject  for  you,  but  can't  swear 
it  was  never  executed — I  never  heard  of  its  being — 
"  Chaucer  beating  a  Franciscan  Friar  in  Fleet  Street." 
Think  of  the  old  dresses,  houses,  etc.  "It  seemeth 
that  both  these  learned  men  (Gower  and  Chaucer)  were 
of  the  Inner  Temple ;  for  not  many  years  since  Master 
Buckley  did  see  a  record  in  the  same  house  where 
Geoffrey  Chaucer  was  fined  two  shillings  for  beating  a 
Franciscan  Friar  in  Fleet  Street." — Chaucer''s  Life,  hy  T, 
Speght. — Yours  in  haste  (salt  fish  waiting). 

'  C.  Lamb.' 

In  June  Haydon  was  again  arrested,  and  imprisoned 
in  the  King's  Bench.  Once  more  he  appealed  to 
Parliament  by  a  petition  presented  by  Brougham,  and 
to  the  public  through  letters  to  the  newspapers.  Par- 
liament and  the  larger  public  turned  a  deaf  ear,  but 
private  friends  rallied  to  his  support.  Scott,  him- 
self a  ruined  man,  sent  a  cheque  and  a  charming 
52 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

letter  of  sympathy,  while  Lockhart  suggested  that  a  sub- 
scription should  be  raised  to  buy  one  or  more  pictures, 
A  public  meeting  of  sympathisers  was  convened,  at  which 
it  was  stated  that  Haydon's  debts  amounted  to  £1167, 
while  his  only  available  asset  was  an  unfinished  picture 
of  the  '  Death  of  Eucles/  Over  a  hundred  pounds  was 
subscribed  in  the  room,  and  it  was  decided  that  the 
Eucles  should  be  raffled  in  ten-pound  shares.  The 
result  of  these  efforts  was  the  release  of  the  prisoner  at 
the  end  of  July. 

During  this  last  term  of  imprisonment  Haydon  wit- 
nessed the  masquerade,  or  mock  election  by  his  fellow- 
prisoners,  and  instantly  decided  that  he  would  paint 
the  scene,  which  offered  unique  opportunities  for  both 
humour  and  pathos.  This  picture,  Hogarthian  in  type, 
was  finished  and  exhibited  before  the  close  of  the  year. 
The  exhibition  was  moderately  successful,  but  the  picture 
did  not  sell,  and  Haydon  was  once  more  sinking  into 
despair,  when  the  king  expressed  a  desire  to  have  the 
work  sent  down  to  Windsor  for  his  inspection.  Hopes 
were  raised  high  once  more,  and  this  time  were  not  dis- 
appointed. George  iv.  bought  the  '  Mock  Election,"*  and 
promptly  paid  the  price  of  five  hundred  guineas.  Thus 
encouraged,  Haydon  set  to  work  with  renewed  spirit  on 
a  companion  picture,  *  Chairing  the  Member,**  which  was 
finished  and  exhibited,  with  some  earlier  works,  in  the 
course  of  the  summer.  The  king  refused  to  buy  the  new 
work,  but  it  found  a  purchaser  at  <X'300,  and  the  net 
receipts  from  the  two  pictures  and  their  exhibition 
amounted  to  close  upon  X''1400,  a  sum  which,  observes 
Haydon,  in  better  circumstances  and  with  less  expense, 
would  have  afforded  a  comfortable  independence  for  the 
year! 

58 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

The  Eucles  occupied  the  artist  during  the  remainder 
of  1828,  and  early  in  1829  he  began  a  new  Hogarthian 
subject,  a  Punch  and  Judy  show.  He  was  still  paint- 
ing portraits  when  he  could  get  sitters,  and  on  April 
15,  he  notes  :  '  Finished  one  cursed  portrait — have  only 
one  more  to  touch,  and  then  I  shall  be  free.  I  have  an 
exquisite  gratification  in  painting  portraits  wretchedly. 
I  love  to  see  the  sitters  look  as  if  they  thought,  "  Can 
this  be  Haydon's  —  the  great  Haydon's  painting?" 
I  chuckle.  I  am  rascal  enough  to  take  their  money, 
and  chuckle  more.'  It  must  be  owned  that  Haydon 
thoroughly  deserved  his  ill-success  in  this  branch  of  his 
art.  When  '  Punch '  was  finished  the  king  sent  for  it  to 
Windsor,  but  though  he  admired,  he  did  not  buy,  and 
the  picture  eventually  passed  into  the  possession  of 
Haydon's  old  friend.  Dr.  Darling,  who  had  helped  him 
out  of  more  than  one  difficulty.  A  large  representation 
of  '  Xenophon  and  the  Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand ' 
was  now  begun,  but  before  it  was  finished  the  painter 
was  once  more  in  desperate  straits.  In  vain  he  sent 
up  urgent  petitions  to  his  Maker  that  he  might  be 
enabled  to  go  through  with  this  great  work,  explain- 
ing in  a  parenthesis,  '  It  will  be  my  greatest,"*  and  con- 
cluding, '  Bless  its  commencement,  its  progress,  its  con- 
clusion, and  its  effect,  for  the  sake  of  the  intellectual 
elevation  of  my  great  and  glorious  country.' 

In  May  1830,  Haydon  was  back  again  in  the  King's 
Bench,  where  he  had  begun  to  feel  quite  at  home.  He 
presented  yet  another  of  his  innumerable  petitions  to 
Parliament  in  favour  of  Government  encouragement  of 
historical  painting,  through  Mr.  Agar  Ellis,  but  as  the 
ministry  showed  no  desire  to  encourage  this  particular  his- 
torical painter,  he  passed  through  the  Bankruptcy  Court, 
54 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

and  returned  to  his  family  on  the  20th  of  July.  During 
his  period  of  detention,  George  iv.  had  died,  and 
Haydon  has  the  following  comment  on  the  event: — 
'Thus  died  as  thoroughbred  an  Englishman  as  ever 
existed  in  this  country.  He  admired  her  sports,  gloried 
in  her  prejudices,  had  confidence  in  her  bottom  and 
spirit,  and  to  him  alone  is  the  destruction  of  Napoleon 
owing.  I  have  lost  in  him  my  sincere  admirer ;  and  had 
not  his  wishes  been  continually  thwarted,  he  would  have 
given  me  ample  and  adequate  employment.' 

Although  Haydon  had  regained  his  freedom,  his  chance 
of  maintaining  himself  and  his  rapidly  increasing  family 
by  his  art  seemed  as  far  away  as  ever.  By  October  15th 
he  is  at  his  wits'*  end  again,  and  writes  in  his  Journal : 
*The  harassings  of  a  family  are  really  dreadful.  Two 
of  my  children  are  ill,  and  Mary  is  nursing.  All  night 
she  was  attending  to  the  sick  and  hushing  the  suckling, 
with  a  consciousness  that  our  last  shilling  was  going.  I 
got  up  in  the  morning  bewildered — Xenophon  hardly 
touched — no  money — butcher  impudent — all  tradesmen 
insulting.  I  took  up  my  private  sketch-book  and  two 
prints  of  Napoleon  (from  a  small  picture  of  '  Napoleon 
musing  at  St.  Helena")  and  walked  into  the  city.  Hughes 
advanced  me  five  guineas  on  the  sketch-book ;  I  sold  my 
prints,  and  returned  home  happy  with  £8,  4s.  in  my 
pocket.  .  .  .  (25th)  Out  selling  my  prints.  Sold  enough 
for  maintenance  for  the  week.  Several  people  looked 
hard  at  me  with  my  roll  of  prints,  but  I  feel  more 
ashamed  in  borrowing  money  than  in  honestly  selling 
my  labours.  It  is  a  pity  the  nobility  drive  me  to  this 
by  their  neglect.' 

In  December  came  another  stroke  of  good-luck.  Sir 
Robert  Peel  called  at  the  studio,  and  gave  the  artist  a 

55 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

commission  to  paint,  on  a  larger  scale,  a  replica  of  his 
small  sketch  of  'Napoleon  at  St.  Helena.**  Unluckily, 
there  was  a  misunderstanding  about  the  price.  Peel 
asked  how  much  Haydon  charged  for  a  whole  length 
figure,  and  was  told  a  hundred  pounds,  which  was  the 
price  of  an  ordinary  portrait.  Taking  this  to  be  the 
charge  for  the  Napoleon,  he  paid  no  more.  Haydon, 
who  considered  the  picture  well  worth  ^^500,  was  bitterly 
disappointed,  and  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his  feelings. 
Peel  afterwards  sent  him  an  extra  thirty  pounds,  but  the 
subject  remained  a  grievance  to  Haydon  for  the  rest  of 
his  life,  and  Peel^  who  had  intended  to  do  the  artist  a 
good  turn,  was  so  annoyed  by  his  complaints,  that  he 
never  gave  him  another  commission.  The  Napoleon, 
though  its  exhibition  was  not  a  success,  was  one  of 
Haydon's  most  popular  pictures,  and  the  engraving  is 
well  known.  Wordsworth  admired  it  exceedingly,  and 
on  June  12,  sent  the  artist  the  '  Sonnet  to  B.  R. 
Haydon,  composed  on  seeing  his  picture  of  Napoleon 
in  the  island  of  St.  Helena,'  beginning : 

'Haydon  !  let  worthier  judges  praise  the  skill.' 

The  close  of  this  year  was  a  melancholy  period  to  poor 
Haydon.  He  lost  his  little  daughter,  Fanny,  and  his 
third  son,  Alfred,  was  gradually  fading  away.  Out  of 
eight  children  born  to  this  most  affectionate  of  fathers, 
no  fewer  than  five  died  in  infancy  from  suffusion  of  the 
brain,  due,  it  was  supposed,  to  the  terrible  mental  dis- 
tresses of  their  mother.  '  I  can  remember,'  writes 
Frederick  Haydon,  one  of  the  three  survivors,  'the 
roses  of  her  sunken  cheeks  fading  away  daily  with 
anxiety  and  grief.  My  father,  who  was  passionately 
attached  to  both  wife  and  children,  suffered  the  tortures 
56 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

of  the  damned  at  the  sight  before  him.  His  sorrow 
over  the  deaths  of  his  children  was  something  more 
than  human.  I  remember  watching  him  as  he  hung 
over  his  daughter  Georgiana,  and  over  his  dying  boy 
Harry,  the  pride  and  delight  of  his  life.  Poor  fellow, 
how  he  cried  !  and  he  went  into  the  next  room,  and 
beating  his  head  passionately  on  the  bed,  called  upon 
God  to  take  him  and  all  of  us  from  this  dreadful  world. 
The  earliest  and  most  painful  death  was  to  be  preferred 
to  our  life  at  that  time."* 

By  dint  of  borrowing  in  every  possible  quarter,  gener- 
ally at  forty  per  cent,  interest,  and  inducing  his  patrons 
to  take  shares  in  his  Xenophon,  Haydon  managed  to 
get  through  the  winter,  though  his  children  were  often 
without  stockings.  William  iv.  consented  to  place  his 
name  at  the  head  of  the  subscribers''  list,  and  Goethe 
wrote  a  flattering  letter,  expressing  his  desire  to  take 
a  ticket  for  the  '  very  valuable  painting,'  and  assuring 
the  artist  that  'my  soul  has  been  elevated  for  many 
years  by  the  contemplation  of  the  important  pictures 
(the  cartoons  from  the  Elgin  Marbles)  formerly  sent  to 
me,  which  occupy  an  honourable  station  in  my  house.^ 
Xenophon  was  exhibited  in  the  spring  of  1832  without 
attracting  much  attention,  the  whole  nation  being  en- 
grossed with  the  subject  of  Reform.  Haydon,  though 
a  high  Tory  by  birth  and  inclination,  was  an  ardent 
champion  of  the  Bill,  as  he  had  been  for  that  of  Catholic 
Emancipation.  His  brush  was  once  more  exchanged  for 
the  pen,  and  he  not  only  poured  out  his  thoughts  upon 
Reform  in  his  Journal,  but  wrote  several  letters  on  the 
subject  to  the  Times,  which  he  considered  the  most 
wonderful  compositions  of  the  kind  that  had  ever  been 
penned.     After  the  passing  of  the  Bill  he  congratulates 

67 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

himself  upon  having  contributed  to  the  grand  result,  and 
adds  :  '  When  my  colours  have  faded,  my  canvas  decayed, 
and  my  body  has  mingled  with  the  earth,  these  glorious 
letters,  the  best  things  I  ever  wrote,  will  awaken  the 
enthusiasm  of  my  countrymen.  I  thanked  God  I  lived 
in  such  a  time,  and  that  he  gifted  me  with  talent  to 
serve  the  great  cause.' 

On  reading  the  account  of  the  monster  meeting  of  the 
Trades  Unions  at  Newhall  Hill,  Birmingham,  it  occurred 
to  Haydon  that  the  moment  when  the  vast  concourse 
joined  in  the  sudden  prayer  offered  up  by  Hugh  Hutton, 
would  make  a  fine  subject  for  a  picture.  Accordingly, 
he  wrote  to  Hutton,  and  laid  the  suggestion  before  him. 
The  Birmingham  leaders  were  attracted  by  the  idea,  and 
the  picture  was  begun,  but  support  of  a  material  kind 
was  not  forthcoming,  and  the  scheme  had  to  be  abandoned. 
Lord  Grey  then  suggested  that  Haydon  should  paint  a 
picture  of  the  great  Reform  Banquet,  which  was  to  be 
held  in  the  Guildhall  on  July  11.  The  proposal  was 
exactly  to  the  taste  of  the  public-spirited  artist,  who 
saw  fame  and  fortune  beckoning  to  him  once  more,  and 
fancied  that  his  future  was  assured.  He  was  allowed 
every  facility  on  the  great  day,  breakfasted  and  dined 
with  the  Committee  at  the  Guildhall,  was  treated 
with  distinction  by  the  noble  guests,  many  of  whom 
sent  to  take  wine  with  him  as  he  sat  at  work,  and  in 
short,  to  quote  his  own  words,  '  I  was  an  object  of  great 
distinction  without  five  shillings  in  my  pocket — and  this 
is  life ! ' 

Lord  Grey,  on  seeing  Haydon's  sketches  of  the  Ban- 
quet, gave  him  a  commission  for  the  picture  at  a  price  of 
^500,  half  of  which  he  paid  down  at  once,  and  thus 
saved  the  painter  from  the  ruin  that  was  again  impend- 
58 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

ing.  Then  followed  a  period  of  triumphant  happiness. 
The  leading  men  of  the  Liberal  party  sat  for  their 
heads,  and  Hay  don  had  the  longed-for  opportunity  of 
pressing  upon  them  his  views  about  the  public  encourage- 
ment of  art  by  means  of  grants  for  the  decoration  of 
national  buildings.  Although  it  does  not  appear  that 
he  made  a  single  convert,  he  was  quite  contented  for  the 
time  being  with  the  ready  access  to  ministers  and  noble- 
men that  the  occasion  afforded  him,  and  his  Journal  is 
filled  with  expressions  of  his  satisfaction.  We  hear  of 
Lord  Palmerston's  good-humoured  elegance.  Lord  Lans- 
downe"'s  amiability.  Lord  Jeffrey''s  brilliant  conversation, 
and,  most  delightful  of  all.  Lord  Melbourne's  frank, 
unaffected  cordiality.  Melbourne,  it  appears, enjoyed  his 
sittings,  for  he  asked  many  questions  about  Hazlitt, 
Leigh  Hunt,  Keats,  and  Shelley,  and  highly  appre- 
ciated Haydon's  anecdotes.  Needless  to  add,  he  did  not 
allow  himself  to  be  bored  by  the  artist's  theories. 

The  sittings  for  the  Reform  picture  continued  through 
1833,  and  the  early  part  of  1834.  Haydon  was  kept  in 
full  employment,  but  domestic  sorrows  marred  his  satis- 
faction in  his  interesting  work.  In  less  than  twelve 
months,  he  lost  two  sons,  Alfred  and  Harry,  the  latter 
a  child  of  extraordinary  promise.  '  The  death  of  this 
beautiful  boy,**  he  writes,  '  has  given  my  mind  a  blow 
I  shall  never  effectually  recover.  I  saw  him  buried 
to-day,  after  passing  four  days  sketching  his  dear  head 
in  his  coffin — his  beautiful  head.  What  a  creature ! 
With  a  brow  like  an  ancient  god ! '  In  August  Haydon 
was  arrested  again,  and  hurried  away  for  a  day  and 
night  of  torture,  during  which,  he  confesses,  he  was 
very  near  putting  an  end  to  himself;  but  advances  from 
the  Duke  of  Cleveland   and   Mr.   Ellice   brought   him 

59 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

release,  and  in  a  few  hours  he  was  at  home  again,  '  as 
happy  and  as  hard  at  work  as  ever.' 

In  April  1834,  the  Reform  picture  was  exhibited,  but 
the  public  was  not  interested,  and  Haydon  lost  a  con- 
siderable sum  over  the  exhibition.  The  price  of  the 
commission  had  long  since  gone  to  quiet  the  clamours 
of  his  creditors.  On  May  12  he  writes :  '  It  is  really 
lamentable  to  see  the  effect  of  success  and  failure  on 
people  of  fashion.  Last  year,  all  was  hope,  exulta- 
tion, and  promise  with  me.  My  door  was  beset,  my 
house  besieged,  my  room  inundated.  It  was  an  absolute 
fight  to  get  in  to  see  me  paint.  Well,  out  came  the 
work — the  public  felt  no  curiosity — it  failed,  and  my 
door  is  deserted,  no  horses,  no  carriages.  Now  for 
executions,  insults,  misery,  and  wretchedness."*  Then 
follows  the  old  story.  '  June  7. — Mary  and  I  in  agony 
of  mind.  All  my  Italian  books,  and  some  of  my  best 
historical  designs,  are  gone  to  a  pawnbroker's.  She 
packed  up  her  best  gowns  and  the  children's,  and  I 
drove  away  with  what  cost  me  c£'40,  and  got  £4^.  The 
state  of  degradation,  humiliation,  and  pain  of  mind  in 
which  I  sat  in  that  dingy  back-room  is  not  to  be 
described.' 

Haydon  now  began  a  picture  of  '  Cassandra  and 
Agamemnon,'  and  in  July  he  received  a  commission  to 
finish  it  for  the  Duke  of  Sutherland,  who  had  more 
than  once  saved  him  from  ruin.  On  this  occasion  the 
Duke's  advances  barely  sufficed  to  stave  off  disaster. 
Studies,  prints,  clothes,  and  lay-figures  were  pawned 
to  pay  for  the  expenses  of  the  work,  and  on  October 
comes  the  entry :  '  Directly  after  the  Duke's  letter  came 
with  its  enclosed  cheque,  an  execution  was  put  in  for 
the  taxes.  I  made  the  man  sit  for  Cassandra's  hand, 
60 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

and  put  on  a  Persian  bracelet.  When  the  broker  came 
for  his  money,  he  burst  out  laughing.  There  was  the 
fellow,  an  old  soldier,  pointing  in  the  attitude  of 
Cassandra — upright  and  steady  as  if  on  guard.  Lazarus'* 
head  was  painted  just  after  an  arrest ;  Eucles  was  finished 
from  a  man  in  possession ;  the  beautiful  face  in  Xenophon, 
after  a  morning  spent  in  begging  mercy  of  lawyers ;  and 
now  Cassandra's  head  was  finished  in  an  agony  not  to 
be  described,  and  her  hand  completed  from  a  brokers 
man." 


PART  III 

On  October  16,  1884,  the  Houses  of  Parliament  were 
burned  down.  '  Good  God  !  "*  writes  Haydon,  '  I  am  just 
returned  from  the  terrific  burning  of  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment. Mary  and  I  went  in  a  cab,  and  drove  over  the 
bridge.  From  the  bridge  it  was  sublime.  We  alighted, 
and  went  into  a  public-house,  which  was  full.  The  feel- 
ing among  the  people  was  extraordinary — ^jokes  and 
radicalism  universal.  .  .  .  The  comfort  is  that  there  is 
now  a  better  prospect  of  painting  the  House  of  Lords. 
Lord  Grey  said  there  was  no  intention  of  taking  the 
tapestry  down ;  little  did  he  think  how  soon  it  would  go."* 
Haydon''8  hopes  now  rose  high.  For  many  years,  as  we 
have  seen,  he  had  l)een  advocating,  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  the  desirability  of  decorating  national  buildings 
with  heroic  paintings  by  native  artists,  and,  with 
the  need  for  new  Houses  of  Parliament,  it  seemed  as 
if  at  last  his  cause  might  triumph.  Once  more  he 
attacked  the  good-humoured  but  unimpressionable  Lord 

61 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

Melbourne,  and  presented  another  petition  to  Parliament 
through  Lord  Morpeth.  But  in  any  case  it  would  be 
years  before  the  new  buildings  were  ready  for  decoration, 
and  in  the  meantime  he  would  have  been  entirely  out  of 
employment  if  his  long- suffering  landlord  had  not  allowed 
him  to  paint  off  a  debt  with  a  picture  of  '  Achilles  at  the 
Court  of  Lycomedes/ 

In  the  summer  of  this  year  Mr.  Ewart  obtained  his 
Select  Committee  to  inquire  into  the  best  means  of  extend- 
ing a  knowledge  of  the  arts  and  the  principles  of  design 
among  the  people ;  and  further,  to  inquire  into  the  con- 
stitution of  the  Royal  Academy,  and  the  effects  produced 
thereby.  Haydon,  overjoyed  at  such  a  sign  of  progress, 
determined  to  aid  the  inquiry  by  giving  a  lecture  on  the 
subject  at  the  London  Mechanics''  Institute,  under  the 
auspices  of  Dr.  Birkbeck.  The  lecture  was  a  success,  for 
Haydon's  natural  earnestness  and  enthusiasm  enabled 
him  to  interest  and  impress  an  audience,  and  Dr.  Birk- 
beck assured  him  that  he  had  made  a  '  hit."*  This  was 
the  beginning  of  his  career  as  a  lecturer,  by  which  for 
several  years  he  earned  a  small  but  regular  income.  But 
meanwhile  ruin  was  again  staring  him  in  the  face.  On 
September  26  he  writes :  '  The  agony  of  my  necessities 
is  really  dreadful.  For  this  year  I  have  principally 
supported  myself  by  the  help  of  my  landlord,  and  by 
pawning  everything  of  value  I  have  left.  .  .  .  Lay  awake 
in  misery.  Threatened  on  all  sides.  Doubtful  whether 
to  apply  to  the  Insolvent  Court  to  protect  me,  or  let  ruin 
come.  Improved  the  picture,  and  not  having  a  shilling, 
sent  out  a  pair  of  my  spectacles,  and  got  five  shillings 
for  the  day.  (29th)  Sent  the  tea-urn  off  the  table,  and 
got  ten  shillings  for  the  day.  Shall  call  my  creditors 
together.  In  God  I  trust." 
62 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

The  meeting  of  the  creditors  took  place,  and  Haydon 
persuaded  them  to  grant  him  an  extension  of  time  until 
June,  1836.  Thus  relieved  from  immediate  anxiety  he 
set  to  work  on  his  picture  with  renewed  zest.  The  most 
remarkable  trait  about  him,  observes  his  son  Frederick, 
was  his  sanguine  buoyancy  of  spirits.  'Nothing  ever 
depressed  him  long.  He  was  the  most  persevering, 
indomitable  man  I  ever  met.  With  us  at  home  he  was 
always  confident  of  doing  better  next  year.  But  that 
next  year  never  came.  .  .  .  Blest  as  he  was  with  that 
peculiar  faculty  of  genius  for  overcoming  difficulties,  he 
might  have  found  life  tame  without  them.  I  remember 
his  saying  once,  he  was  not  sure  he  did  not  relish  ruin  as 
a  source  of  increased  activity  of  mind."*  But  the  struggle 
had  begun  to  tell  upon  his  powers,  if  not  upon  his  spirits, 
and  '  he  was  now  painting  pictures  for  bread ;  repeating 
himself;  despatching  a  work  in  a  few  days  that  in  better 
times  he  would  have  spent  months  over ;  ready  to  paint 
small  things,  since  great  ones  would  not  sell;  fighting 
misery  at  the  point  of  his  brush,  and  obliged  to  eke  out 
a  livelihood  by  begging  and  borrowing,  in  default  of 
worse  expedients  such  as  bills  and  cognovits.  A  less 
elastic  temperament  and  a  less  vigorous  constitution 
would  liave  broken  down  in  one  year  of  such  a  fight. 
Haydon  kept  it  up  for  ten.' 

The  first  half  of  1836  went  by  in  the  usual  struggle, 
and  in  September  Haydon  was  thrown  into  prison  for 
the  fourth  time.  On  November  17  he  passed  through 
the  Insolvency  Court,  and  on  the  following  Sunday  he 
records :  *  Went  to  church,  and  returned  thanks  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul  for  the  great  mercies  of  God  to  me 
and  my  family  during  my  imprisonment.  .  .  .  (29th) 
Set  my  palette  to-day,  the  first  time  these  eleven  weeks 

63 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

and  three  days.  I  relished  the  oil;  could  have  tasted 
the  colour;  rubbed  my  cheeks  with  the  brushes,  and 
kissed  the  palette.  Ah,  could  I  be  let  loose  in  the  House 
of  Lords  ! '  In  the  absence  of  commissions,  he  now  turned 
to  lecturing  as  a  means  of  support.  He  lectured  in  Leeds, 
Manchester,  Liverpool,  and  Birmingham,  as  well  as  in 
London,  and  did  good  service  by  agitating  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  local  schools  of  design,  and  by  arousing  in 
the  minds  of  the  wealthy  middle  classes  some  faint 
appreciation  of  the  claims  of  art. 

A  valuable  result  of  these  lectures  was  the  extension 
of  Haydon's  g,cquaintance  among  the  shrewd  merchant 
princes  of  the  north,  who  recognised  his  artistic  sincerity, 
and  were  inclined  to  hold  out  to  him  a  helping  hand. 
Through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Lowndes,  a  Liverpool  art- 
patron,  Haydon  received  a  commission  to  paint  a  picture 
of  '  Christ  blessing  Little  Children,^  for  the  Blind  Asylum 
at  Liverpool,  at  a  price  of  c£^400.  So  elated  was  he  at 
this  unexpected  piece  of  good  fortune  that,  with  charac- 
teristic sanguineness,  he  seems  to  have  thought  that  all 
his  troubles  were  at  an  end  for  ever.  Even  his  pious 
dependence  on  heavenly  support  diminished  with  his 
freedom  from  care,  and  he  notes  in  a  Sunday  entry : 
'  Went  to  church,  but  prosperity,  though  it  makes  me 
grateful,  does  not  cause  me  such  perpetual  religious 
musings  as  adversity.  When  on  a  precipice,  where 
nothing  but  God's  protection  can  save  me,  I  delight  in 
religious  hope,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  my  religion  ever 
dwindles  unless  kept  alive  by  risk  of  ruin.  My  piety 
is  never  so  intense  as  when  in  a  prison,  and  my  grati- 
tude never  so  much  alive  as  when  I  have  just  escaped 
from  one." 

The  year  1838  passed  in  comparative  peace  and  comfort. 
64 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

The  picture  for  the  asylum  was  finished  about  the  end  of 
August,  when  Haydon  congratulated  his  Maker  on  the 
fact  that  he  (Haydon)  had  paid  his  rent  and  taxes,  laid 
in  his  coals  for  the  winter,  and  enjoyed  health,  happiness, 
and  freedom  from  debt — fresh  debt,  be  it  understood — 
ever  since  this  commission.  Going  down  to  Liverpool  to 
hang  his  work,  it  was  proposed  to  him  by  Mr.  Lowndes 
that  he  should  paint  a  picture  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  twenty  years  after  the  battle. 
This  was  a  subject  after  Haydon's  own  heart,  for  the  Duke 
had  always  been  his  ideal  hero,  his  king  among  men.  Over- 
flowing with  pride  and  delight,  he  prays  that  Providence 
will  so  bless  this  new  commission  that  '  the  glorious  city 
of  Liverpool  may  possess  the  best  historical  picture,  and 
the  grandest  effort  of  my  pencil  in  portraiture.  Inspired 
by  history,  I  fear  not  making  it  the  grandest  thing.' 

The  Liverpool  committee  wrote  to  the  Duke,  to  ask  if 
he  would  consent  to  give  sittings  to  Haydon,  and  received 
a  promise  that  he  would  sit  for  his  head  as  soon  as  time 
could  be  found.  Meanwhile,  Haydon  set  to  work  upon 
the  horse,  which  was  copied  from  portraits  of  Copenhagen. 
While  he  was  thus  engaged,  D'Orsay  called  at  the  studio, 
and  bestowed  advice  and  criticism  upon  the  artist,  which, 
for  once,  was  thankfully  received.  Haydon  relates  how 
D'Orsay  *  took  my  brush  in  his  dandy  glove,  which  made 
my  heart  ache,  and  lowered  the  hind-quarters  by  bring- 
ing over  a  bit  of  the  sky.  Such  a  dress !  white  greatcoat, 
blue  satin  cravat,  hair  oiled  and  curling,  hat  of  the 
primest  curve,  gloves  scented  with  eau-de-Cologne,  prim- 
rose in  tint,  skin  in  tightness.  In  this  prime  of  dandyism, 
he  took  up  a  nasty,  oily,  dirty  hog-tool,  and  immortalised 
Copenhagen  by  touching  the  sky.  I  thought  after  he 
was  gone,  "  This  won't  do— a  Frenchman  touch  Copen- 
E  65 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

hagen ! "  So  out  I  rubbed  all  he  had  touched,  and 
modified  his  hints  myself.' 

As  there  was  no  chance  of  the  Duke's  being  able  to  sit 
at  this  time,  owing  to  the  pressure  of  public  business, 
Haydon  made  a  flying  visit  to  Brussels,  in  order  to  get 
local  colour  for  the  field  of  Waterloo.  A  few  weeks 
later  he  was  overjoyed  at  receiving  an  invitation  to  spend 
a  few  days  at  Walmer,  when  the  Duke  promised  to  give 
the  desired  sittings.  On  October  11,  1839,  he  went 
down  'by  steam'  to  Walmer,  where  he  was  heartily 
welcomed  by  his  host.  His  Journal  contains  a  long  and 
minute  account  of  his  visit,  from  which  one  or  two  anec- 
dotes may  be  quoted.  Haydon's  fellow-guests  were  Sir 
Astley  Cooper,  Mr.  Arbuthnot,  and  Mr.  Booth.  The 
first  evening  the  conversation  turned,  among  other  topics, 
upon  the  Peninsular  War.  'The  Duke  talked  of  the 
want  of  fuel  in  Spain — of  what  the  troops  suffered,  and 
how  whole  houses,  so  many  to  a  division,  were  pulled 
down,  and  paid  for,  to  serve  as  fuel.  He  said  every 
Englishman  who  has  a  house  goes  to  bed  at  night.  He 
found  bivouacking  was  not  suitable  to  the  character  of 
the  English  soldier.  He  got  drunk,  and  lay  down  under 
any  hedge,  and  discipline  was  destroyed.  But  when  he 
introduced  tents,  every  soldier  belonged  to  his  tent,  and, 
drunk  or  sober,  he  got  to  it  before  he  went  to  sleep.  I 
said,  "  Your  grace,  the  French  always  bivouac."  "  Yes," 
he  replied,  "because  French,  Spanish,  and  all  other  nations 
lie  anywhere.     It  is  their  habit.     They  have  no  homes." ' 

The  next  morning,  after  his  return  from  hunting,  the 
Duke  gave  a  first  sitting  of  an  hour  and  a  half.  '  I  hit 
his  grand,  manly,  upright  expression,'  writes  Haydon. 
'  He  looked  like  an  eagle  of  the  gods  who  had  put  on 
human  shape,  and  got  silvery  with  age  and  service.  .  .  . 
66 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

I  found  that  to  imagine  he  could  not  go  through  any 
duty  raised  the  lion.  "  Does  the  light  hurt  your  grace''s 
eyes  ?  "  "  Not  at  all,""  and  he  stared  at  the  light  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  I  '11  see  if  you  shall  make  me  give  in,  Signer 
Light."  'Twas  a  noble  head.  I  saw  nothing  of  that 
peculiar  expression  of  mouth  the  sculptors  give  him, 
bordering  on  simpering.  His  colour  was  beautiful  and 
fleshy,  his  lips  compressed  and  energetic.''  The  next 
day,  being  Sunday,  there  was  no  sitting,  but  Haydon 
was  charmed  at  sharing  a  pew  with  his  hero,  and  deeply 
moved  by  the  simplicity  and  humility  with  which  he 
followed  the  service.  '  Arthur  Wellesley  in  the  village 
church  of  Walmer,"*  he  writes,  *  was  more  interesting  to 
me  than  at  the  last  charge  of  the  Guards  at  Waterloo, 
or  in  all  the  glory  and  paraphernalia  of  his  entry  into 
Paris.' 

It  is  probable  that  the  Duke  was  afraid  of  being 
attacked  by  Haydon  on  the  burning  question  of  a  State 
grant  for  the  encouragement  of  historical  painting,  a 
subject  about  which  he  had  received  and  answered  many 
lengthy  letters,  for  on  each  evening,  when  there  was  no 
party,  he  steadily  read  a  newspaper,  the  Standard  on 
Saturday,  and  the  Spectator  on  Sunday,  while  his  guest 
watched  him  in  silent  admiration.  On  the  Monday 
morning,  the  hero  came  in  for  another  sitting,  looking 
extremely  worn,  his  skin  drawn  tight  over  his  face,  his 
eyes  watery  and  aged,  his  head  slightly  nodding.  *  How 
altered  from  the  fresh  old  man  after  Saturday's  hunting,' 
says  Haydon.  *  It  affected  me.  He  looked  like  an  aged 
eagle  beginning  to  totter  from  its  perch.'  A  second 
sitting  in  the  afternoon  concluded  the  business,  and  early 
next  morning  Haydon  left  for  town.  *  It  is  curious,'  he 
comments, '  to  have  known  thus  the  two  great  heads  of 

67 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

the  two  great  parties,  the  Duke  and  Lord  Grey.  I 
prefer  the  Duke  infinitely.  He  is  more  manly,  has  no 
vanity,  is  not  deluded  by  any  flattery  or  humbug,  and  is 
in  every  way  a  grander  character,  though  Lord  Grey  is 
a  fine,  amiable,  venerable,  vain  man.' 

During  the  remainder  of  the  year,  Haydon  worked 
steadily,  and  finished  his  picture.  On  December  2  he 
notes :  'It  is  now  twenty-seven  years  since  I  ordered  my 
Solomon  canvas.  I  was  young — twenty-six.  The  whole 
world  was  against  me.  I  had  not  a  farthing.  Yet  I 
remember  the  delight  with  which  I  mounted  my  deal 
table  and  dashed  it  in,  singing  and  trusting  in  God,  as  I 
always  do.  When  one  is  once  imbued  with  that  clear 
heavenly  confidence,  there  is  nothing  like  it.  It  has 
carried  me  through  everything.  I  think  my  dearest  Mary 
has  not  got  it ;  I  do  not  think  women  have  in  general. 
Two  years  ago  I  had  not  a  farthing,  having  spent  it  all 
to  recover  her  health.  She  said  to  me,  "  What  are  we  to 
do,  my  dear  ?  "  I  replied,  "  Trust  in  God."  There  was 
something  like  a  smile  on  her  face.  The  very  next  day 
came  the  order  for  £¥)0  from  Liverpool,  and  ever  since 
I  have  been  employed.'  Alas,  poor  Mary  !  who  had  been 
chiefly  occupied  in  bearing  children  and  burying  them, 
that  must  have  been  rather  a  melancholy  smile  upon 
her  faded  face. 

During  the  first  part  of  1840,  Haydon  seems  to  have 
been  chiefly  engaged  in  lecturing,  the  only  picture  on  the 
stocks  being  a  small  replica  of  his  Napoleon  Musing  for 
the  poet  Rogers.  In  February  he  was  enabled  to  carry 
out  one  of  the  dreams  of  his  life,  namely,  the  delivery 
of  a  series  of  lectures  upon  art  in  the  Ashmolean  Museum 
at  Oxford,  under  the  patronage  of  the  Vice-Chancellor. 
The  experiment  was  a  triumphant  success,  and  he 
68 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

exclaims,  with  his  usual  pious  fervour,  *0  God,  how 
grateful  ought  I  to  be  at  being  permitted  the  dis- 
tinction of  thus  being  the  first  to  break  down  the 
barrier  which  has  kept  art  begging  to  be  heard  at  the 
Universities.'  He  describes  the  occasion  as  one  of  the 
four  chief  honours  of  his  life,  the  other  three  being 
Wordsworth's  sonnet,  '  High  is  our  calling,'  the  freedom 
of  his  native  town,  and  a  public  dinner  that  was  given 
in  his  honour  at  Edinburgh.  On  March  14  he  arrived 
home,  '  full  of  enthusiasm  and  expecting  (like  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield)  every  blessing — expecting  my  dear  Mary 
to  hang  about  my  neck,  and  welcome  me  after  my 
victory ;  when  I  found  her  out,  not  calculating  I  should 
be  home  till  dinner.  I  then  walked  into  town,  and 
when  I  returned  she  was  at  home,  and  hurt  that  I  did 
not  wait,  so  this  begat  mutual  allusions  which  were  any- 
thing but  loving  or  happy.  So  much  for  anticipations 
of  human  happiness  ! ' 

On  June  12, 1840,  Haydon  notes :  *  Excessively  excited 
and  exhausted.  I  attended  the  great  Convention  of  the 
Anti-Slavery  Society  at  Freemasons'  Hall.  Last  Wednes- 
day a  deputation  called  on  me  from  the  Committee,  say- 
ing they  wished  for  a  sketch  of  the  scene.  The  meeting 
was  very  affecting.  Poor  old  Clarkson  was  present,  with 
delegates  from  America,  and  other  parts  of  the  world.' 
A  few  days  later,  Haydon  breakfasted  with  Clarkson, 
and  sketched  him  with  *an  expression  of  indignant 
humanity.'  In  less  than  a  week  fifty  heads  were  dashed 
in,  the  picture,  when  finished,  containing  no  fewer  than 
a  hundred  and  thirty-eight;  in  fact,  as  the  artist  re- 
marked, with  a  curious  disregard  of  natural  history,  it 
was  all  heads,  like  a  peacock's  tail.  Haydon  took  a 
malicious  pleasure  in  suggesting  to  his  sitters  that  he 

69 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

should  place  them  beside  the  negro  delegate ;  this  being 
his  test  of  their  sincerity.  Thus  he  notes  on  June  30 : 
'  Scobell  called.  I  said,  "  I  shall  place  you,  Thompson,  and 
the  negro  together.""  Now  an  abolitionist,  on  thorough 
principle,  would  have  gloried  in  being  so  placed.  He 
sophisticated  immediately  on  the  propriety  of  placing  the 
negro  in  the  distance,  as  it  would  have  much  greater 
effect.  Lloyd  Garrison  comes  to-day.  I  "*11  try  him,  and 
this  shall  be  my  method  of  ascertaining  the  real  heart.  .  .  . 
Garrison  met  me  directly.  George  Thompson  said  he  saw 
no  objection.  But  that  was  not  enough.  A  man  who 
wishes  to  place  a  negro  on  a  level  with  himself  must  no 
longer  regard  him  as  having  been  a  slave,  and  feel  annoyed 
at  sitting  by  his  side.'  A  visit  to  Clarkson  at  Playford 
Hall,  Ipswich,  was  an  interesting  experience.  Clarkson 
told  the  story  of  his  vision,  and  the  midnight  voice  that 
said  '  You  have  not  done  your  work.  There  is  America.' 
Haydon  had  been  a  believer  all  his  life  in  such  spiritual 
communications,  and  declares,  *  I  have  been  so  acted  on 
from  seventeen  to  fifty-five,  for  the  purpose  of  reforming 
and  refining  my  great  country  in  art.' 

In  1841  the  Fine  Arts  Committee  appointed  to  con- 
sider the  question  of  the  decoration  of  the  new  Houses  of 
Parliament,  sat  to  examine  witnesses,  but  Haydon  was 
not  summoned  before  them,  a  slight  which  he  deeply  felt. 
With  an  anxious  heart  he  set  about  making  experiments 
in  fresco,  and  was  astonished  at  what  he  regarded  as  his 
success  in  this  new  line  of  endeavour.  During  the  past 
year,  the  Anti-Slavery  Convention  picture,  and  one  or 
two  small  commissions,  had  kept  his  head  above  water, 
but  now  the  clouds  were  beginning  to  gather  again,  his 
difficulties  being  greatly  increased  by  the  fact  that  he 
had  two  sons  to  start  in  the  world.  The  eldest,  Frank, 
70 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

had  been  apprenticed,  at  his  own  wish,  to  an  engineering 
firm,  but  tiring  of  his  chosen  profession,  he  desired  to 
take  orders,  and,  as  a  university  career  was  considered  a 
necessary  preliminary  to  this  course,  he  was  entered  at 
Caius  College,  Cambridge.  The  second  son,  Frederick, 
Haydon  fitted  out  for  the  navy,  and  in  order  to  meet 
these  heavy  extra  expenses,  he  was  compelled  to  part 
with  his  copyright  of  the  'Duke  at  Waterloo**  for  a 
wholly  inadequate  sum. 

In  the  spring  of  1842  the  Fine  Arts  Commission  issued 
a  notice  of  the  conditions  for  the  cartoon  competition, 
intended  to  test  the  capacity  of  native  artists  for  the 
decoration  of  the  House  of  Lords.  The  joy  with  which 
Haydon  welcomed  this  first  step  towards  the  object 
which  he  had  been  advocating  throughout  the  whole  of 
his  working  life,  was  marred  by  the  painful  misgiving 
that  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  share  the  fruits  of 
victory.  When  he  had  first  begun  his  crusade,  he  had 
felt  himself  without  a  rival  in  his  own  branch  of  art,  not 
one  of  his  contemporaries  being  able  to  compete  with 
him  in  a  knowledge  of  anatomy,  in  strength  of  imagina- 
tion, or  in  the  power  of  working  on  a  grand  scale.  But 
now  he  was  fifty-six  years  old,  there  were  younger  men 
coming  on  who  had  been  trained  in  the  principles  of  his 
own  school,  and  he  was  painfully  aware  that  he  had  made 
many  enemies  in  high  places.  Still,  in  spite  of  all  fore- 
bodings, he  continued  his  researches  in  fresco-painting, 
and  wrote  vehement  letters  to  the  papers,  protesting 
against  the  threatened  employment  of  Cornelius  and 
other  German  artists. 

During  this  year  Haydon  was  working  intermittently 
at  two  or  three  large  pictures,  *  Alexander  conquering  the 
Lion,'  *  Curtius  leaping  into  the  Gulf/  and  the  '  Siege  of 

71 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

Saragossa,"'  for  the  days  were  long  past  when  one  grand 
composition  occupied  him  for  six  years.  That  the  wolf 
was  once  again  howling  at  the  door  is  evidenced  by 
the  entry  for  February  6.  'I  got  up  yesterday,  after 
lying  awake  for  several  hours  with  all  the  old  feelings  of 
torture  at  want  of  money.  A  bill  coming  due  of  £4i4* 
for  my  boy  Frank  at  Caius.  Three  commissions  for 
c^'TOO  put  off  till  next  year.  My  dear  Mary's  health 
broken  up.  ...  I  knew  if  my  debt  to  the  tutor  of  Caius 
was  not  paid,  the  mind  of  my  son  Frank  would  be 
destroyed,  from  his  sensitiveness  to  honour  and  right. 
As  he  is  now  beating  third-year  men,  I  dreaded  any 
check."*  In  these  straits  he  hastily  painted  one  or  two 
small  pot-boilers,  borrowed,  deferred,  pawned  his  wife's 
watch,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  bringing  his  son  home 
'crowned  as  first-prize  man  in  mathematics."*  For  one 
who  was  in  the  toils  of  the  money-lenders,  who  was  only 
living  from  hand  to  mouth,  and  who  had  never  made  an 
investment  in  his  life,  to  give  his  son  a  university  career, 
must  be  regarded,  according  to  individual  feeling,  either 
as  a  proof  of  presumptuous  folly  or  of  childlike  trust  in 
Providence. 

As  soon  as  his  pictures  were  off  his  hands,  Haydon 
began  his  competition  cartoons  of  '  The  Curse  of  Adam 
and  Eve,"*  and  '  The  Entry  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince 
and  King  John  into  London.'  He  felt  that  it  was  beneath 
his  dignity  as  a  painter  of  recognised  standing  to  compete 
with  young  unknown  men  who  had  nothing  to  lose,  but 
in  his  present  necessities  the  chance  of  winning  one  of 
the  money  prizes  was  not  to  be  neglected.  In  the  absence 
of  any  lucrative  employment  he  was  only  able  to  carry 
on  his  work  by  pawning  his  lay-figure,  and  borrowing 
off  his  butterman.     Small  wonder  that  he  exclaims  : '  The 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

greatest  curse  that  can  befall  a  father  in  England  is  to 
have  a  son  gifted  with  a  passion  and  a  genius  for  high 
art.  Thank  God  with  all  my  soul  and  all  my  nature, 
my  children  have  witnessed  the  harrowing  agonies  under 
which  I  have  ever  painted,  and  the  very  name  of  paint- 
ing, the  very  thought  of  a  picture,  gives  them  a  hideous 
taste  in  their  mouths.  Thank  God,  not  one  of  my  boys, 
nor  my  girl,  can  draw  a  straight  line,  even  with  a  ruler, 
much  less  without  one.' 

In  the  course  of  this  year  Haydon  began  a  corre- 
spondence with  Miss  Barrett,  afterwards  Mrs.  Browning, 
with  whom  he  was  never  personally  acquainted,  though 
he  knew  her  through  her  poems,  and  through  the  allu- 
sions to  her  in  the  letters  of  their  common  friend.  Miss 
Mitford.  The  paper  friendship  flourished  for  a  time, 
and  Haydon,  who  was  a  keen  judge  of  character,  recog- 
nised that  here  was  a  little  Donna  Quixote  whose  chivalry 
could  be  depended  on  in  time  of  trouble.  More  than 
once,  when  threatened  with  arrest,  he  sent  her  paintings 
and  manuscripts,  of  which  she  took  charge  with  sublime 
indifference  to  the  fact  that  by  so  doing  she  might  be 
placing  herself  within  reach  of  the  arm  of  the  law.  One 
of  the  pictures  that  were  placed  in  her  guardianship  was 
an  unfinished  portrait  of  *  Wordsworth  musing  upon 
Helvcllyn.''  Miss  Barrett  was  inspired  by  this  work  with 
the  sonnet  beginning : 

*  Wordsworth  upon  Helvellyn  !    Let  the  cloud 
Ebb  audibly  along  the  mountain  wind ' ; 

and  concluding  with  the  fine  tribute: 

'  A  vision  free 
And  noble,  Haydon,  hath  thine  art  released. 
No  portrait  this  with  academic  air, 
This  is  the  poet  and  his  poetry.' 

75 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

The  year  1843  brought,  as  Hay  don's  biographer  points 
out,  'the  consummation  of  what  he  had  so  earnestly 
fought  for,  a  competition  of  native  artists  to  prove  their 
capability  for  executing  great  monumental  and  decorative 
works ;  but  with  this  came  his  own  bitter  disappointment 
at  not  being  among  the  successful  competitors.  In  all 
his  struggles  up  to  this  point,  Haydon  had  the  consola- 
tion of  hope  that  better  times  were  coming.  But  now 
the  good  time  for  art  was  at  hand,  and  he  was  passed 
over.  The  blow  fell  heavily — indeed,  I  may  say,  was 
mortal.  He  tried  to  cheat  himself  into  the  belief  that 
the  old  hostile  influences  to  which  he  attributed  all  his 
misfortunes,  had  been  working  here  also,  and  that  he 
should  yet  rise  superior  to  their  malice.  He  would  not 
admit  to  himself  that  his  powers  were  impaired — that  he 
was  less  fit  for  great  achievements  in  his  art  than  he 
had  been  when  he  painted  Solomon  and  Lazarus.  But 
if  he  held  this  opinion,  he  held  it  alone.  It  was  apparent 
to  all,  even  to  his  warmest  friends,  that  years  of  harass, 
humiliation,  distraction,  and  conflict  had  enfeebled  his 
energies,  and  led  him  to  seek  in  exaggeration  the  effect 
he  could  no  longer  attain  by  well-measured  force.  His 
restless  desire  to  have  a  hand  in  all  that  was  projected 
for  art,  had  wearied  those  in  authority.  He  had  shown 
himself  too  intractable  to  follow,  and  he  had  not 
inspired  that  confidence  which  might  have  given  him  a 
right  to  lead.' 

Although  Haydon  loudly  proclaimed  his  conviction 
that,  in  face  of  the  hostility  against  him,  his  cartoons 
would  not  be  successful,  even  though  they  were  as  perfect 
as  Raphael's,  yet  it  is  obvious  that  he  had  not  altogether 
relinquished  hope.  In  a  letter  to  his  old  pupil,  Eastlake, 
who  was  secretary  to  the  Fine  Arts  Commission,  he  says : 
74 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

*  I  appeal  to  the  Royal  Commission,  to  the  First  Lord, 
to  you  the  secretary,  to  Barry  the  architect,  if  I  ought 
not  to  be  indulged  in  my  hereditary  right  to  do  this, 
viz.,  that  when  the  houses  are  ready,  cartoons  done, 
colours  mixed,  and  all  at  their  posts,  I  shall  be  allowed, 
employed  or  not  employed^  to  take  the  brush,  and  dip  into 
the  first  colour,  and  put  the  first  touch  on  the  first 
intonaco.  If  that  is  not  granted,  I  '11  haunt  every  noble 
Lord  and  you,  till  you  join  my  disturbed  spirit  on  the 
banks  of  the  Styx." 

On  June  1  Haydon  placed  his  two  cartoons  in  West- 
minster Hall,  and  thanked  his  God  that  he  had  lived  to 
see  that  day,  adding  with  unconscious  blasphemy,  *  Spare 
my  life,  O  Lord,  until  I  have  shown  thy  strength  unto 
this  generation,  thy  power  unto  that  which  is  to  come.' 
The  miracle  for  which  he  had  secretly  hoped,  while 
declaring  his  certainty  of  failure,  did  not  happen.  On 
June  27  he  heard  from  Eastlake  that  his  cartoons  were 
not  among  those  chosen  for  reward.  Half  stunned  by 
the  blow,  anticipated  though  it  had  been,  he  makes  but 
few  comments  on  the  news  in  his  Journal,  and  those  are 
written  in  a  composed  and  reasonable  tone.  *  I  went  to 
bed  last  night  in  a  decent  state  of  anxiety,'  he  observes. 
'  It  has  given  a  great  shock  to  my  family,  especially  to 
my  dear  boy,  Frank,  and  revived  all  the  old  horrors  of 
arrest,  execution,  and  debt.  It  is  exactly  what  I  expected, 
and  is,  I  think,  intentional.  ...  I  am  wounded,  and 
being  ill  from  confinement,  it  shook  me.  (July  \st)  A 
day  of  great  misery.  I  said  to  my  dear  love,  **  I  am  not 
included."  Her  expression  was  a  study.  She  said,  "  We 
shall  be  ruined.''  I  looked  up  my  letters,  papers,  and 
Journals,  and  sent  them  to  my  dear  iEschylus  Barrett.  I 
burnt  loads  of  private  letters,  and  prepared  for  execu- 

76 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

tions.     Seven  pounds  was  raised  on  my  daughter's  and 
Mary's  dresses.' 

The  three  money  prizes  were  awarded  to  Armitage, 
Cope,  and  Watts,  but  it  was  announced  that  another 
competition,  in  fresco,  would  be  held  the  following  year, 
when  the  successful  competitors  would  be  intrusted  with 
the  decoration  of  the  House  of  Lords.  Haydon  did  not 
enter  for  this  competition,  but,  as  will  presently  appear, 
he  refused  to  allow  that  he  was  beaten.  On  September  4 
he  removed  his  cartoons  from  Westminster  Hall,  with 
the  comment :  '  Thus  ends  the  cartoon  contest ;  and  as 
the  very  first  inventor  and  beginner  of  this  mode  of 
rousing  the  people  when  they  were  pronounced  incapable 
of  relishing  refined  works  of  art  without  colour,  I  am 
deeply  wounded  at  the  insult  inflicted.  These  Journals 
witness  under  what  trials  I  began  them — how  I  called  on 
my  Creator  for  His  blessing — how  I  trusted  in  Him,  and 
how  I  have  been  degraded,  insulted,  and  harassed.  O 
Lord  !  Thou  knowest  best.     I  submit.' 

During  the  year  Haydon  had  finished  his  picture  of 
'  Alexander  and  the  Lion,'  which  he  considered  one  of  his 
finest  works,  though  the  British  Gallery  declined  to  hang 
it,  and  no  patron  offered  to  buy  it.  He  had  also  painted 
for  bread  and  cheese  innumerable  small  replicas  of 
'  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena '  and  the  '  Duke  at  Waterloo '  for 
five  guineas  apiece.  By  the  beginning  of  1844  his  spirits 
had  outwardly  revived,  thanks  to  the  anodyne  of  incessant 
labour,  and  he  writes  almost  in  the  old  buoyant  vein : 
'  Another  day  of  work,  God  be  thanked  !  Put  in  the  sea 
[in  "  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena "] ;  a  delicious  tint.  How 
exquisite  is  a  bare  canvas,  sized  alone,  to  work  on  ;  how 
the  slightest  colour,  thin  as  water,  tells ;  how  it  glitters 
in  body;  how  the  brush  flies — now  here — now  there;  it 
76 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

seems  as  if  face,  hands,  sky,  thought,  poetry,  and  expres- 
sion were  hid  in  the  handle,  and  streamed  out  as  it 
touched  the  canvas.  What  magic !  what  fire !  what 
unerring  hand  and  eye !  what  power !  what  a  gift  of 
God!  I  bow,  and  am  grateful.'  On  March  24  he 
came  to  the  fatal  decision  to  paint  his  own  original 
designs  for  the  House  of  Lords  in  a  series  of  six  large 
pictures,  and  exhibit  them  separately,  a  decision  founded, 
as  he  believed,  on  supernatural  inspiration.  'Awoke 
this  morning,'  he  writes, '  with  that  sort  of  audible  whisper 
Socrates,  Columbus,  and  Tasso  heard !  "  Why  do  you 
not  paint  your  own  designs  for  the  House  on  your  own 
foundation,  and  exhibit  them  ?  "  I  felt  as  if  there  was  no 
chance  of  my  ever  being  permitted  to  do  them  else, 
without  control  also.  I  knelt  up  in  my  bed,  and  prayed 
heartily  to  accomplish  them,  whatever  might  be  the 
obstruction.  I  will  begin  them  as  my  next  great  works ; 
I  feel  as  if  they  will  be  my  last,  and  I  think  I  shall  then 
have  done  my  duty.  O  God !  bless  the  beginning, 
progression,  and  conclusion  of  these  six  great  designs  to 
illustrate  the  best  government  to  regulate  without 
cramping  the  energies  of  mankind.' 

In  July  the  frescoes  sent  in  for  competition  were 
exhibited  in  Westminster  Hall,  and  in  the  result  six 
artists  were  commissioned  to  decorate  the  House  of  Lords, 
Maclise,  Redgrave,  Dyce,  Cope,  Horsley,  and  Thomas. 
*I  see,'  writes  Haydon,  *they  are  resolved  that  I,  the 
originator  of  the  whole  scheme,  shall  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it;  so  I  will  (trusting  in  the  great  God  who  has 
brought  me  thus  far)  begin  on  my  own  inventions  without 
employment.'  The  first  of  the  series  was  *  Aristides  hooted 
by  the  Populace,'  and  the  conditions  under  which  it  was 
painted  are  described  in  his  annual  review  of  the  year's 

77 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

work :  '  I  have  painted  a  large  Napoleon  in  four  days  and 
a  half,  six  smaller  different  subjects,  three  Curtiuses,  five 
Napoleons  Musing,  three  Dukes  and  Copenhagens,  George 
IV.,  and  the  Duke  at  Waterloo — half  done  Uriel — 
published  my  lectures  —  and  settled  composition  of 
Aristides.  I  gave  lectures  at  Liverpool,  sometimes  twice 
a  day,  and  lectured  at  the  Royal  Institution.  I  have 
not  been  idle,  but  how  much  more  I  might  have  done  ! ' 

In  1845  Haydon  exhibited  his  picture  of 'Uriel  and 
Satan '  at  the  Academy,  and  '  after  twenty-two  years  of 
abuse,'  actually  received  a  favourable  notice  in  the  Times. 
For  the  Uriel  he  was  paid  X^SOO,  but  five  other  pictures 
remained  upon  his  hands,  their  estimated  value  amounting 
to  nearly  a  thousand  pounds,  and  he  was  left  to  work  at 
his  Aristides  with  barely  ten  shillings  for  current  expenses, 
and  not  a  single  commission  in  prospect.  '  What  a  pity 
it  is,'  he  observes,  '  that  a  man  of  my  order — sincerity, 
perhaps  genius  [in  the  Journal  a  private  note  is  here 
inserted, "  not  perhaps  "],  is  not  employed.  What  honour, 
what  distinction  would  I  not  confer  on  my  great  country  ! 
However,  it  is  my  destiny  to  perform  great  things,  not 
in  consequence  of  encouragement,  but  in  spite  of  opposi- 
tion, and  so  let  it  be."*  In  the  latter  part  of  the  year 
came  one  or  two  minor  pieces  of  good  fortune  for  which 
Haydon  professed  the  profoundest  gratitude,  declaring 
that  he  was  not  good  enough  to  deserve  such  blessings. 
The  King  of  Hanover  bought  a  Napoleon  for  ^200,  and 
a  pupil  came,  who  paid  a  like  sum  as  premium.  His  son, 
Frank,  who  had  taken  his  degree,  changed  his  mind  again 
about  his  profession,  and  now  '  shrank  from  the  publicity 
of  the  pulpit.'  Haydon  applied  to  Sir  Robert  Peel  for 
an  appointment  for  the  youth,  and  Peel,  who  seems  to 
have  shown  the  utmost  patience  and  kindness  in  his 
78 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

relations  with  the  unfortunate  artist,  at  once  offered  a 
post  in  the  Record  Office  at  i?80  a  year,  an  offer  which 
was  gladly  accepted. 

Thus  relieved  of  immediate  care,  Hay  don  set  to  work 
on  the  second  picture  of  his  series, '  Nero  playing  the  Lyre 
while  Rome  was  burning.'  The  effect  of  his  conception, 
as  he  foresaw  it  in  his  mind's  eye,  was  so  terrific  that  he 
'fluttered,  trembled,  and  perspired  like  a  woman,  and 
was  obliged  to  sit  down.'  Under  all  the  anxiety,  the 
pressure,  and  the  disappointment  of  Haydon's  life,  it  must 
be  remembered  that  there  were  enormous  compensations 
in  the  shape  of  days  and  hours  of  absorbed  and  satisfied 
employment,  days  and  hours  such  as  seldom  fall  to  the 
lot  of  the  average  good  citizen  and  solvent  householder. 
The  following  entry  alone  is  sufficient  proof  that  Haydon, 
even  in  his  worst  straits,  was  almost  as  much  an  object  of 
envy  as  of  compassion :  *  Worked  with  such  intense 
abstraction  and  delight  for  eight  hours,  with  five  minutes 
only  for  lunch,  that  though  living  in  the  noisiest  quarter 
of  all  London,  I  never  remember  hearing  all  day  a  single 
cart,  carriage,  knock,  cry,  bark  of  man,  woman,  dog,  or 
child.  When  I  came  out  into  the  sunshine  I  said  to 
myself,  "  Why,  what  is  all  this  driving  about  ?  "  though  it 
has  always  been  so  for  the  last  twenty-two  years,  so 
perfectly,  delightfully,  and  intensely  had  I  been  abstracted. 
If  that  be  not  happiness,  what  is  ? ' 

Haydon  had  now  staked  all  his  hopes  upon  the 
exhibition  in  the  spring  of  1846  of  the  first  two  pictures 
in  his  series, '  Aristides '  and  '  Nero.'  If  the  public  flocked 
to  sec  them,  if  it  accorded  him,  as  he  expected,  its  enthu- 
siastic support,  he  hoped  that  the  Commission  would  be 
shamed  into  offering  him  public  employment.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  exhibition  failed,  he  must  have  realised 

79 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

that  he  would  be  irretrievably  ruined,  with  all  his  hopes 
for  the  future  slain.  Everything  was  to  be  sacrificed  to 
this  last  grand  effort.  '  If  I  lose  this  moment  for  showing 
all  my  works,'  he  writes,  '  it  can  never  occur  again.  My 
fate  hangs  on  doing  as  I  ought,  and  seizing  moments  with 
energy.  I  shall  never  again  have  the  opportunity  of 
connecting  myself  with  a  great  public  commission  by 
opposition,  and  interesting  the  public  by  the  contrast. 
If  I  miss  it,  it  will  be  a  tide  not  taken  at  the  flood.' 

By  dint  of  begging  and  borrowing,  the  money  was 
scraped  together  for  the  opening  expenses  of  the  exhibi- 
tion, and  Hay  don  composed  a  sensational  descriptive 
advertisement  in  the  hope  of  attracting  the  public.  The 
private  view  was  on  April  4,  when  it  rained  all  day, 
and  only  four  old  friends  attended.  On  April  6, 
Easter  Monday,  the  public  was  admitted,  but  only 
twenty-one  availed  themselves  of  the  privilege.  For 
a  few  days  Haydon  went  on  hoping  against  hope  that 
matters  would  improve,  and  that  John  Bull,  in  whose 
support  he  had  trusted,  would  rally  round  him  at  last. 
But  Tom  Thumb  was  exhibiting  next  door,  and  the 
historical  painter  had  no  chance  against  the  pigmy. 
The  people  rushed  by  in  their  thousands  to  visit  Tom 
Thumb,  but  few  stopped  to  inspect  'Aristides'  or 
'Nero.'  'They  push,  they  fight,  they  scream,  they 
faint,'  writes  Haydon,  '  they  see  my  bills,  my  boards,  my 
caravans,  and  don't  read  them.  Their  eyes  are  open,  but 
their  sense  is  shut.  It  is  an  insanity,  a  rabies,  a  madness, 
a  furor,  a  dream.  Tom  Thumb  had  12,000  people  last 
week,  B.  R.  Haydon  133J  (the  half  a  little  girl).  Ex- 
quisite taste  of  the  English  people !  .  .  .  {May  \Sth)  I 
closed  my  exhibition  this  day,  and  lost  <£*111,  8s.  lOd. 
No  man  can  accuse  me  of  showing  less  energy,  less  spirit, 
80 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

less  genius  than  I  did  twenty-six  years  ago.  I  have  not 
decayed,  but  the  people  have  been  corrupted.  I  am  the 
same,  they  are  not ;  and  I  have  suffered  in  consequence.' 

In  defiance  of  this  shipwreck  of  all  his  hopes,  and  the 
heavy  liabilities  that  hung  about  his  neck,  this  indomit- 
able spirit  began  the  third  picture  of  his  unappreciated 
series,  'Alfred  and  the  First  British  Jury.'  He  had 
large  sums  to  pay  in  the  coming  month,  and  only  a  few 
shillings  in  the  house,  with  no  commissions  in  prospect. 
He  sends  up  passionate  and  despairing  petitions  that 
God  will  help  him  in  his  dreadful  necessities,  will  raise 
him  friends  from  sources  invisible,  and  enable  him  to 
finish  his  last  and  greatest  works.  Appeals  for  help  to 
Lord  Brougham,  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  and  Sir  Robert 
Peel  brought  only  one  response,  a  cheque  for  .f'SO  from 
Peel,  which  was  merely  a  drop  in  the  ocean.  Day  by 
day  went  by,  and  still  no  commissions  came  in,  no  offers 
for  any  of  the  large  pictures  he  had  on  hand.  Hay  don 
began  to  lose  confidence  in  his  ability  to  finish  his  series, 
and  with  him  loss  of  self-confidence  was  a  fatal  sign.  The 
June  weather  was  hot,  he  was  out  of  health,  and  unable  to 
sleep  at  night,  but  he  declined  to  send  for  a  doctor.  His 
brain  grew  confused,  and  at  last  even  the  power  to  work, 
that  power  which  for  him  had  spelt  pride  and  happiness 
throughout  his  whole  life,  seemed  to  be  leaving  him. 

On  June  16  he  writes :  *  I  sat  from  two  till  five  staring 
at  my  picture  like  an  idiot,  my  brain  pressed  down  by 
anxiety,  and  the  anxious  looks  of  my  dear  Mary  and  the 
children.  .  .  .  Dearest  Mary,  with  a  woman's  passion, 
wishes  me  at  once  to  stop  payment,  and  close  the  whole 
thing.  I  will  not.  I  will  finish  my  six  under  the  bless- 
ing of  God,  reduce  my  expenses,  and  hope  His  mercy 
will  not  desert  me,  but  bring  me  through  in  health  and 
F  81 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

vigour,  gratitude  and  grandeur  of  soul,  to  the  end."'  The 
end  was  nearer  than  he  thought,  for  even  Haydon's  brave 
spirit  could  not  battle  for  ever  with  adverse  fate,  and 
the  collapse,  when  it  came,  was  sudden.  The  last  two  or 
three  entries  in  the  Journal  are  melancholy  reading. 

'  June  18. — O  God,  bless  me  through  the  evils  of  this 
day.  My  landlord,  Newton,  called.  I  said,  "I  see  a 
quarter's  rent  in  thy  face,  but  none  from  me.''''  I 
appointed  to-morrow  night  to  see  him,  and  lay  before 
him  every  iota  of  my  position.  Good-hearted  Newton ! 
I  said,  "  Don"'t  put  in  an  execution.""  "  Nothing  of  the 
sort,"'''  he  replied,  half  hurt.  I  sent  the  Duke,  Words- 
worth, dear  Fred  and  Mary's  heads  to  Miss  Barrett  to 
protect.  I  have  the  Duke's  boots  and  hat,  Lord  Grey's 
coat,  and  some  more  heads. 

'  20^A. — O  God,  bless  us  through  all  the  evils  of  this 
day.     Amen. 

'  21,5^. — Slept  horribly.  Prayed  in  sorrow,  and  got  up 
in  agitation. 

'  ^%nd, — God  forgive  me.     Amen. 

FINIS 

OF 

B.  R.  HAYDON. 

^  ^'  Stretch  me  no  longer  on  this  rough  world" — Lear.' 

This  last  entry  was  made  between  ten  and  eleven 
o'clock  on  the  morning  of  June  22.  Hay  don  had  risen 
early,  and  gone  out  to  a  gunmaker's  in  Oxford  Street, 
where  he  bought  a  pair  of  pistols.  After  breakfast, 
he  asked  his  wife  to  go  and  spend  the  day  with  an  old 
friend,  and  having  aiFectionately  embraced  her,  shut  him- 
self in  his  painting-room.  Mrs.  Haydon  left  the  house, 
82 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

and  an  hour  later  Miss  Haydon  went  down  to  the  studio, 
intending  to  try  and  console  her  father  in  his  anxieties. 
She  found  him  stretched  on  the  floor  in  front  of  his 
unfinished  picture  of  *  Alfred  and  the  First  Jury,**  a 
bullet-wound  in  his  head,  and  a  frightful  gash  across  his 
throat.  A  razor  and  a  small  pistol  lay  by  his  side.  On 
the  table  were  his  Journal,  open  at  the  last  page,  letters 
to  his  wife  and  children,  his  will,  made  that  morning,  and 
a  paper  headed :  '  Last  thoughts  of  B.  R.  Haydon ; 
half-past  ten.'  These  few  lines,  with  their  allusions  to 
Wellington  and  Napoleon,  are  characteristic  of  the  man 
who  had  painted  the  two  great  soldiers  a  score  of  times, 
and  looked  up  to  them  as  his  heroes  and  exemplars. 

'No  man  should  use  certain  evil  for  probable  good, 
however  great  the  object,'  so  they  run.  '  Evil  is  the  pre- 
rogative of  the  Deity.  Wellington  never  used  evil  if  the 
good  was  not  certain.  Napoleon  had  no  such  scruples,  and 
I  fear  the  glitter  of  his  genius  rather  dazzled  me.  But  had 
I  been  encouraged,  nothing  but  good  would  have  come 
from  me,  because  when  encouraged  I  paid  everybody.  God 
forgive  me  the  evil  for  the  sake  of  the  good.     Amen.' 

This  tragic  conclusion  to  a  still  more  tragic  career 
created  a  profound  sensation  in  society,  and  immense 
crowds  followed  the  historical  painter  to  his  grave.  Among 
all  his  friends,  perhaps  few  were  more  affected  by  his  death 
than  one  who  had  never  looked  upon  his  face — his  *  dear 
iEschylus  Barrett,'  as  he  called  her.  Certain  it  is  that, 
with  the  intuition  of  genius,  Elizabeth  Barrett  under- 
stood, appreciated,  and  made  allowances  for  the  unhappy 
man  more  completely  than  was  possible  to  any  other  of 
his  contemporaries.  Clear-sighted  to  his  faults  and 
weaknesses,  her  chivalrous  spirit  took  up  arms  in  defence 
of  his  conduct,  even  against  the  strictures  of  her  poet- 

83 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

lover.  'The  dreadful  death  of  poor  Mr.  Haydon  the 
artist,'  she  wrote  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Martin,  a  few  days 
after  the  event, '  has  quite  upset  me.  I  thank  God  that 
I  never  saw  him — poor  gifted  Haydon.  .  .  .  No  artist  is 
left  behind  with  equal  largeness  of  poetical  conception. 
If  the  hand  had  always  obeyed  the  soul,  he  would  have 
been  a  genius  of  the  first  order.  As  it  is,  he  lived  on  the 
slope  of  genius,  and  could  not  be  steadfast  and  calm. 
His  life  was  one  long  agony  of  self-assertion.  Poor,  poor 
Haydon !  See  how  the  world  treats  those  who  try  too 
openly  for  its  gratitude.  "  Tom  Thumb  for  ever  **■  over 
the  heads  of  its  giants.' 

'  Could  any  one — could  my  own  hand  even  have  averted 
what  has  happened  ?  "*  she  wrote  to  Robert  Browning  on 
June  24,  1846.  '  My  head  and  heart  have  ached  to-day 
over  the  inactive  hand.  But  for  the  moment  it  was  out 
of  my  power,  and  then  I  never  fancied  this  case  to  be 
more  than  a  piece  of  a  continuous  case,  of  a  habit  fixed. 
Two  years  ago  he  sent  me  boxes  and  pictures  precisely 
so,  and  took  them  back  again — poor,  poor  Haydon ! — 
as  he  will  not  this  time.  .  .  .  Also,  I  have  been  told 
again  and  again  (oh,  never  by  you,  my  beloved)  that  to 
give  money  there,  was  to  drop  it  into  a  hole  in  the  ground. 
But  if  to  have  dropped  it  so,  dust  to  dust,  would  have 
saved  a  living  man — what  then?  .  .  .  Some  day,  when 
I  have  the  heart  to  look  for  it,  you  shall  see  his  last  note. 
I  understand  now  that  there  are  touches  of  desperate 
pathos — but  never  could  he  have  meditated  self-destruc- 
tion while  writing  that  note.  He  said  he  should  write 
six  more  lectures — six  more  volumes.  He  said  he  was 
painting  a  new  background  to  a  picture  which  made  him 
feel  as  if  his  soul  had  wings  .  .  .  and  he  repeated  an  old 
phrase  of  his,  which  I  had  heard  from  him  often  before, 
84 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

and  which  now  rings  hollowly  to  the  ears  of  my  memory — 
that  he couldvbt  and wouldvLt  die.     Strange  and  dreadful !' 

Directly  after  Haydon's  death  a  public  meeting  of  his 
friends  and  patrons  was  held,  at  which  a  considerable 
sum  was  subscribed  for  the  benefit  of  his  widow  and 
daughter.  Sir  Robert  Peel,  besides  sending  immediate 
help,  recommended  the  Queen  to  bestow  a  small  pension 
on  Mrs.  Haydon.  The  dead  man''s  debts  amounted  to 
cf'SOOO,  and  his  assets  consisted  chiefly  of  unsaleable 
pictures,  on  most  of  which  his  creditors  had  liens.  In  his 
will  was  a  clause  to  the  effect  that  *  I  have  manuscripts 
and  memoirs  in  the  possession  of  Miss  Barrett,  of  50 
Wimpole  Street,  in  a  chest,  which  I  wish  Longman  to  be 
consulted  about.  My  memoirs  are  to  1820  ;  my  journals 
will  supply  the  rest.  The  style,  the  individuality  of 
Richardson,  which  I  wish  not  curtailed  by  an  editor.' 
Miss  Mitford  was  asked  to  edit  the  Life,  but  felt  herself 
unequal  to  the  task,  which  was  finally  intrusted  to 
Mr.  Tom  Taylor. 

Haydon'^s  Memoirs,  compiled  from  his  autobiography, 
journals,  and  correspondence,  appeared  in  1853,  the  same 
year  that  saw  the  publication  of  Lord  John  Russell's 
Life  of  Thomas  Moore,  To  the  great  astonishment  of 
both  critics  and  public,  Haydon's  story  proved  the  more 
interesting  of  the  two.  '  Haydon's  book  is  the  work  of 
the  year,'  writes  Miss  Mitford.  *  It  has  entirely  stopped 
the  sale  of  Moore's,  which  really  might  have  been  written 
by  a  Court  newspaper  or  a  Court  milliner.'  Again,  the 
AtheTiwum,  a  more  impartial  witness,  asks,  *  Who  would 
have  thought  that  the  Life  of  Haydon  would  turn  out 
a  more  sterling  and  interesting  addition  to  English 
biography  than  the  Life  of  Moore?'  But  the  highest 
testimony  to  the  merits  of  the  book  as  a  human  document 

85 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

comes  from  Mrs.  Browning,  who  wrote  to  Miss  Mitford 
on  March  19,  1854,  '  Oh,  I  have  just  been  reading  poor 
Haydon's  biography.  There  is  tragedy !  The  pain  of 
it  one  can  hardly  shake  off.  Surely,  surely,  wrong  was 
done  somewhere,  when  the  worst  is  admitted  of  Haydon. 
For  himself,  looking  forward  beyond  the  grave,  I  seem  to 
understand  that  all  things,  when  most  bitter,  worked 
ultimate  good  to  him,  for  that  sublime  arrogance  of  his 
would  have  been  fatal  perhaps  to  the  moral  nature,  if 
further  developed  by  success.  But  for  the  nation  we  had 
our  duties,  and  we  should  not  suffer  our  teachers  and 
originators  to  sink  thus.  It  is  a  book  written  in  blood  of 
the  heart.  Poor  Haydon !  **  Mr.  Taylor's  Life  was 
supplemented  in  1874  by  Haydon's  Correspondence  and 
Table-talk,  together  with  a  Memoir  written  in  a  tone  of 
querulous  complaint,  by  his  second  son,  Frederick,  who,  it 
may  be  noted,  had  been  dismissed  from  the  public  service 
for  publishing  a  letter  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  entitled  Our 
Officials  at  the  Home  Office,  and  who  died  in  the  Bethlehem 
Hospital  in  1886.  His  elder  brother,  Frank,  committed 
suicide  in  1887. 

On  the  subject  of  Haydon's  merits  as  a  painter  the 
opinion  of  his  contemporaries  swung  from  one  extreme  to 
another,  while  that  of  posterity  perhaps  has  scarcely 
allowed  him  such  credit  as  was  his  due.  It  is  certain 
that  he  was  considered  a  youth  of  extraordinary  promise 
by  his  colleagues,  Wilkie,  Jackson,  and  Sir  George 
Beaumont,  yet  there  were  not  wanting  critics  who  declared 
that  his  early  picture,  '  Dentatus,'  was  an  absurd  mass  of 
vulgarity  and  distortion.  Foreign  artists  who  visited  his 
studio  urged  him  to  go  to  Rome,  where  he  was  assured 
that  patrons  and  pupils  would  flock  round  him;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  was  described  by  a  native  critic  (in 
86 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

the  Quarterly  Review)  as  one  of  the  most  defective 
painters  of  the  day,  who  had  received  more  pecuniary 
assistance,  more  indulgence,  more  liberality,  and  more 
charity  than  any  other  artist  ever  heard  of.  But  the 
best  criticism  of  his  powers,  though  it  scarcely  takes 
into  account  the  gift  of  imagination  which  received  so 
many  tributes  from  the  poets,  is  that  contributed  to 
Mr.  Taylor's  biography  by  Mr.  Watts,  R.A. 

'  The  characteristics  of  Haydon's  art,**  he  writes, '  appear 
to  me  to  be  great  determination  and  power,  knowledge, 
and  effrontery.  .  .  .  Haydon  appears  to  have  succeeded 
as  often  as  he  displays  any  real  anxiety  to  do  so ;  but 
one  is  struck  with  the  extraordinary  discrepancy  of 
different  parts  of  the  work,  as  though,  bored  by  a  fixed 
attention  that  had  taken  him  out  of  himself,  yet  highly 
applauding  the  result,  he  had  scrawled  and  daubed  his 
brush  about  in  a  sort  of  intoxication  of  self-glory.  .  .  . 
In  Haydon's  work  there  is  not  sufficient  forgetfulness  of 
self  to  disarm  criticism  of  personality.  His  pictures  are 
themselves  autobiographical  notes  of  the  most  interesting 
kind ;  but  their  want  of  beauty  repels,  and  their  want  of 
modesty  exasperates.  Perhaps  their  principal  charac- 
teristic is  lack  of  delicacy  and  refinement  of  execution.' 
While  describing  Haydon's  touch  as  woolly,  his  surfaces 
as  disagreeable,  and  his  draperies  as  deficient  in  dignity, 
Mr.  Watts  admits  that  his  expression  of  anatomy  and 
general  perception  of  form  are  the  best  by  far  that  can 
be  found  in  the  English  school.  Haydon  had  looked 
forward  in  full  confidence  to  the  favourable  verdict  of 
.  posterity,  and  to  an  honourable  position  in  the  National 
Gallery  for  the  big  canvases  that  had  been  neglected  by 
his  contemporaries.  It  is  not  the  least  of  life's  little 
ironies  that  while  not  a  single  work  of  his  now  hangs  in 

87 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

the  National  Gallery,  his  large  picture  of '  Curtius  leaping 
into  the  Gulf  occupies  a  prominent  position  in  one  of 
Gatti's  restaurants.^ 

As  a  lecturer,  a  theoriser,  and  a  populariser  of  his  art, 
Haydon  has  just  claims  to  grateful  remembrance. 
Though  driven  to  paint  pot-boilers  for  the  support  of  his 
family,  he  never  ceased  to  preach  the  gospel  of  high  art ; 
he  was  among  the  first  to  recognise  and  acclaim  the  tran- 
scendent merits  of  the  Elgin  Marbles;  he  rejoiced  with  a 
personal  joy  in  the  purchase  of  the  Angerstein  collection 
as  the  nucleus  of  a  National  Gallery  j  he  scorned  the 
ignoble  fears  of  some  of  his  colleagues  lest  the  newly- 
started  winter  exhibitions  of  old  masters  should  injure 
their  professional  prospects ;  he  used  his  interest  at  Court 
to  have  Raphael's  cartoons  brought  up  to  London  for  the 
benefit  of  students  and  public ;  he  advocated  the  estab- 
lishment of  local  schools  of  design,  and,  through  his 
lectures  and  writings,  helped  to  raise  and  educate  the 
taste  of  his  country. 

Haydon  has  painted  his  own  character  and  tempera- 
ment in  such  vivid  colours,  that  scarcely  a  touch  need  be 
added  to  the  portrait.  He  was  an  original  thinker,  a 
vigorous  writer,  a  keen  observer,  but  from  his  youth  up  a 
disproportion  was  evident  in  the  structure  of  his  mind, 
that  pointed  only  too  clearly  to  insanity.  His  judgment, 
as  Mr.  Taylor  observes,  was  essentially  unsound  in  all 
matters  where  he  himself  was  personally  interested.  His 
vanity  blinded  him  throughout  to  the  quality  of  his  own 
work,  the  amount  of  influence  he  could  wield,  and  the 

^  Three  of  Haydon 's  pictures,  however,  are  the  property  of  the  nation. 
Two,  the  'Lazarus'  and  'May-day,'  belong  to  the  National  Gallery, 
but  have  been  lent  to  provincial  galleries.  One,  the  *  Christ  in  the 
Garden,'  belongs  to  the  South  Kensington  Museum,  but  has  been  stored 
away. 

88 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

extent  of  the  public  sympathy  that  he  excited.  He  was 
essentially  religious  in  temperament,  though  his  religion 
was  so  assertive  and  egotistical  in  type  that  those  who 
hold  with  Rosalba  that  where  there  is  no  modesty  there 
can  be  no  religion,^  might  be  inclined  to  deny  its  exist- 
ence. From  the  very  outset  of  his  career  Haydon  took 
up  the  attitude  of  a  missionary  of  high  art  in  England — 
and  therewith  the  expectation  of  being  crowned  and 
enriched  as  its  Priest  and  King.  He  clung  to  the  be- 
lief that  a  man  who  devoted  himself  to  the  practice  of 
a  high  and  ennobling  art  ought  to  be  supported  by  a 
grateful  country,  or  at  least  by  generous  patrons,  and  he 
could  never  be  made  to  realise  that  Art  is  a  stem  and 
jealous  mistress,  who  demands  material  sacrifices  from 
her  votaries  in  exchange  for  spiritual  compensations.  If 
a  man  desires  to  create  a  new  era  in  the  art  of  his  country, 
he  must  be  prepared  to  lead  a  monastic  life  in  a  garret ; 
but  if,  like  Haydon,  he  allows  himself  a  wife. and  eight 
children,  and  professes  to  be  unable  to  live  on  five  hun- 
dred a  year,  he  must  condescend  to  the  painting  of 
portraits  and  pot-boilers.  The  public  cannot  be  forced 
to  support  what  it  neither  understands  nor  admires,  and, 
in  a  democratic  state,  the  Government  is  bound  to  consult 
the  taste  of  its  masters. 

Haydon's  financial  embarrassments  were  perhaps  th^ 
least  of  his  trials.  As  has  been  seen,  he  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  money-lenders  in  early  youth,  and  he 
had  never  l)een  able  to  extricate  himself  from  their 
clutches.  But  so  many  of  his  friends  and  colleagues — 
Godwin,  Leigh  Hunt,  and  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  among 
others — were  in  the  same  position,  that  Haydon  must 

*  Rosalba  said  of  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  '  This  man  can  have  no  religion, 
for  he  has  no  modesty.* 

89 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

have  felt  he  was  insolvent  in  excellent  company.  As  long 
as  he  was  able  to  keep  himself  out  of  prison  and  the 
bailiffs  out  of  his  house,  he  seems  to  have  considered  that 
his  affairs  were  positively  flourishing,  and  at  their  worst 
his  financial  difficulties  alone  would  never  have  driven 
him  to  self-destruction.  Mrs.  Browning  was  surely  right 
when  she  wrote: — 'The  more  I  think  the  more  I  am 
inclined  to  conclude  that  the  money  irritation  was  merely 
an  additional  irritation,  and  that  the  despair,  leading  to 
revolt  against  life,  had  its  root  in  disappointed  ambition. 
The  world  did  not  recognise  his  genius,  and  he  punished 
the  world  by  withdrawing  the  light.  .  .  .  All  the  audacity 
and  bravery  and  self-calculation,  which  drew  on  him 
so  much  ridicule,  were  an  agony  in  disguise — he  could 
not  live  without  reputation,  and  he  wrestled  for  it, 
struggled  for  it,  JcicJced  for  it,  forgetting  grace  of  attitude 
in  the  pang.  When  all  was  vain  he  went  mad  and 
died.  .  ,  .  Poor  Haydon  !  Think  what  an  agony  life 
was  to  him,  so  constituted ! — his  own  genius  a  clinging 
curse !  the  fire  and  the  clay  in  him  seething  and  quench- 
ing one  another ! — the  man  seeing  maniacally  in  all  men 
the  assassins  of  his  fame  !  and  with  the  whole  world 
against  him,  struggling  for  the  thing  that  was  his  life, 
through  day  and  night,  in  thoughts  and  in  dreams 
,  .  .  struggling,  stifling,  breaking  the  hearts  of  the 
creatures  dearest  to  him,  in  the  conflict  for  which  there 
was  no  victory,  though  he  could  not  choose  but  fight  it. 
Tell  me  if  Laocoon's  anguish  was  not  as  an  infant's  sleep 
compared  to  this.' 

Haydon  wrote  his  own  epitaph,  and  this,  which  he,  at 
least,  believed  to  be  an  accurate  summary  of  his  misfor- 
tunes and  their  cause,  may  fitly  close  this  brief  outline  of 
his  troubled  life  : — 
90 


I 


BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON 

'Here 
LiETH  THE  Body 

OP 

BENJAMIN  ROBERT  HAYDON, 

An  English  Historical  Painter,  who,  in  a  struggle  to 
make  the  People,  the  Legislature,  the  Nobility,  and  the 
Sovereign  of  England  give  due  dignity  and  rank  to  the 
highest  Art,  which  has  ever  languished,  and,  until  the 
Government  interferes,  ever  will  languish  in  England, 
fell  a  Victim  to  his  ardour  and  his  love  of  country,  an 
evidence  that  to  seek  the  benefit  of  your  country  by 
telling  the  Truth  to  Power,  is  a  crime  that  can  only  be 
expiated  by  the  ruin  and  destruction  of  the  Man  who  is 
80  patriotic  and  so  imprudent. 

'  He  was  born  at  Plymouth,  26th  of  January  1786, 
and  died  on  the  [22nd  of  June]  18[46],  believing  in 
Christ  as  the  Mediator  and  Advocate  of  Mankind  : — 

' "  What  various  ills  the  Painter's  life  assail, 

Pride,  Envy,  Want,  the  Patron  and  the  Jail.*" 


91 


LADY    MORGAN 

(SYDNEY  OWENSON) 


S^i^M^t 


C^-€?7rv  a^  cCt^^uc^-c-n.^  ^z^  C^4^  <-y,'n-€?'m,iZS  ■^u^<Z4't.^'t'e/rt'C-e^ 


LADY   MORGAN 

(SYDNEY  OWENSON) 
PART   I 

'  What,**  asks  Lady  Morgan  in  her  franjment  of  autobio- 
graphy, 'what  has  a  woman  to  do  with  dates?  Cold, 
false,  erroneous  dates !  Her  poetical  idiosyncrasy,  calcu- 
lated by  epochs,  would  make  the  most  natural  points  of 
reference  in  a  woman's  autobiography/  The  matter-of- 
fact  Saxon  would  hardly  know  how  to  set  about  calculat- 
ing a  poetical  idiosyncrasy  by  epochs,  but  our  Celtic 
heroine  was  equal  to  the  task  ;  at  any  rate,  she  abstained 
so  carefully  throughout  her  career  from  all  unnecessary 
allusion  to  what  she  called  '  vulgar  eras,**  that  the  date 
of  her  birth  remained  a  secret,  even  from  her  bitterest 
enemies.  Her  untiring  persecutor,  John  Wilson  Croker, 
declared  that  Sydney  Owenson  was  born  in  1775,  while 
the  Dkttonaryof  National  Biography  more  gallantly  gives 
the  date  as  1783,  with  a  query.  But  as  Sir  Charles 
Morgan  was  born  in  the  latter  year,  and  as  his  wife 
owned  to  a  few  years'*  seniority,  we  shall  probably  be 
doing  her  no  injustice  if  we  place  the  important  event 
between  1778  and  1780. 

Lady  Morgan's  detestation  for  dates  was  accompanied 
by  a  vivid  imagination,  an  inaccurate  memory,  and  a 

95 


LADY  MORGAN 

constitutional  inability  to  deal  with  hard  facts.  Hence, 
her  biographers  have  found  it  no  easy  task  to  grapple 
with  the  details  of  her  career,  her  own  picturesque,  high- 
coloured  narrative  being  not  invariably  in  accord  with 
the  prosaic  records  gathered  from  contemporary  sources. 
For  example,  according  to  the  plain,  unvarnished  state- 
ment of  a  Saxon  chronicler,  Lady  Morgan's  father  was 
one  Robert  MacOwen,  who  was  born  in  1744,  the  son 
of  poor  parents  in  Connaught.  He  was  educated  at  a 
hedge-school,  and  on  coming  to  man's  estate,  obtained 
a  situation  as  steward  to  a  neighbouring  landowner. 
But,  having  been  inspired  with  an  unquenchable  passion 
for  the  theatre,  he  presently  threw  up  his  post,  and 
through  the  influence  of  Goldsmith,  a  '  Connaught  cousin,' 
he  obtained  a  footing  on  the  English  stage. 

The  Celtic  version  of  this  story,  as  dictated  by  Lady 
Morgan  in  her  old  age,  is  immeasurably  superior,  and  at 
any  rate  deserves  to  be  true.  Early  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  so  runs  the  tale,  a  hurling-match  was  held  in 
Connaught,  which  was  attended  by  all  the  gentry  of  the 
neighbourhood.  The  Queen  of  Beauty,  who  gave  away 
the  prizes,  was  Sydney  Crofton  Bell,  granddaughter  of 
Sir  Malby  Crofton  of  Longford  House.  The  victor  of 
the  hurling-match  was  Walter  MacOwen,  a  gentleman 
according  to  the  genealogy  of  Connaught,  but  a  farmer 
by  position.  Young,  strong,  and  handsome,  MacOwen, 
like  Orlando,  overthrew  more  than  his  enemies,  with  the 
result  that  presently  there  was  an  elopement  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  an  unpardonable  mesalliance  in  the  Crofton 
family.  The  marriage  does  not  appear  to  have  been  a  very 
happy  one,  since  MacOwen  continued  to  frequent  all  the 
fairs  and  hurling-matches  of  the  country-side,  but  his  wife 
consoled  herself  for  his  neglect  by  cultivating  her  musical 
96 


I 


LADY  MORGAxV 

and  poetical  gifts.  She  composed  Irish  songs  and  melodies, 
and  gained  the  title  of  Clasagh-na-Vallagh,  or  Harp  of 
the  Valley.  Her  only  son  Robert  inherited  his  father's 
good  looks  and  his  mother's  artistic  talents,  and  was 
educated  by  the  joint  efforts  of  the  Protestant  clergyman 
and  the  Roman  Catholic  priest. 

When  the  boy  was  about  seventeen,  a  rich,  eccentric 
stranger  named  Blake  arrived  to  take  possession  of  the 
Castle  of  Ardfry.  The  new-comer,  who  was  a  musical 
amateur,  presently  discovered  that  there  was  a  young 
genius  in  the  neighbourhood.  Struck  by  the  beauty 
of  Robert  MacOwen'*s  voice,  Mr.  Blake  offered  to  take 
the  youth  into  his  own  household,  and  educate  him  for 
a  liberal  profession,  an  offer  that  was  joyfully  accepted  by 
Clasagh-na-Vallagh.  The  patron  soon  tired  of  Connaught, 
and  carried  off  his  protigi  to  London,  where  he  placed 
him  under  Dr.  Worgan,  the  famous  blind  organist  of 
Westminster  Abbey.  At  home,  young  MacOwen's 
duties  were  to  keep  his  employer's  accounts,  to  carve 
at  table,  and  to  sing  Irish  melodies  to  his  guests.  He 
was  taken  up  by  his  distant  kinsman.  Goldsmith,  who 
introduced  him  to  the  world  behind  the  scenes,  and 
encouraged  him  in  his  aspirations  after  a  theatrical 
career. 

Among  the  young  Irishman's  new  acquaintances  was 
Madame  Weichsel,/7rim^j[  donna  of  His  Majesty's  Theatre, 
and  mother  of  the  more  celebrated  Mrs.  Billington, 
The  lady  occasionally  studied  her  roles  under  Dr.  Worgan, 
when  MacOwen  played  the  part  of  stage-lover,  and, 
being  of  an  inflammable  disposition,  speedily  developed 
into  a  real  one.  This  love-affair  was  the  cause  of  a 
sudden  reverse  of  fortune.  During  Mr.  Blake's  absence 
from  town,  Robert  accompanied  Madame  Weichsel  to 
G  97 


LADY  MORGAN 

Vauxhall,  where  she  was  engaged  to  sing  a  duet.  Her 
professional  colleague  failing  to  appear,  young  MacOwen 
was  persuaded  to  undertake  the  tenor  part,  which  he 
did  with  pronounced  success.  But  unfortunately  Mr. 
Blake,  who  had  returned  unexpectedly  from  Ireland, 
was  among  the  audience,  and  was  angered  beyond  all 
forgiveness  by  this  premature  debut.  When  Robert 
went  home,  he  found  his  trunks  ready  packed,  and 
a  letter  of  dismissal  from  his  patron  awaiting  him. 
A  note  for  £^00,  which  accompanied  the  letter,  was 
returned,  and  the  prodigal  drove  off  to  his  cousin  Gold- 
smith, who,  with  characteristic  good-nature,  took  him 
in,  and  promised  him  his  interest  with  the  theatrical 
managers. 

According  to  Lady  Morgan's  account,  Robert  Owenson, 
as  he  now  called  himself  in  deference  to  the  prevailing 
prejudice  against  both  the  Irish  and  the  Scotch,  was  at 
once  introduced  to  Garrick,  and  allowed  to  make  his 
debut  in  the  part  of  Tamerlane.  But,  from  contemporary 
evidence,  it  is  clear  that  he  had  gained  some  experience 
in  the  provinces  before  he  made  his  first  appearance  on 
the  London  boards,  when  his  Tamerlane  was  a  decided 
failure.  Garrick  refused  to  allow  him  a  second  chance, 
but  after  further  provincial  touring,  he  obtained  another 
London  engagement,  and  appeared  with  success  in  such 
parts  as  Captain  Macheath,  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger,  and 
Major  O'Flaherty. 

Owenson  had  been  on  the  stage  some  years  when 
he  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Jane  Hill,  the  daughter  of  a 
respectable  burgess  of  Shrewsbury.  The  worthy  Mr. 
Hill  refused  his  consent  to  his  daughter's  marriage  with 
an  actor,  but  the  dashing  jeune  premier,  like  his  father 
before  him,  carried  off  his  bride  by  night,  and  married 
98 


LADY  MORGAN 

her  at  Lichfield  before  her  irate  parent  could  overtake 
them.  Miss  Hill  was  a  Methodist  by  persuasion,  and 
hated  the  theatre,  though  she  loved  her  player.  She 
induced  her  husband  to  renounce  his  profession  for  a 
time,  and  to  appear  only  at  concerts  and  oratorios. 
But  the  stage-fever  was  in  his  blood,  and  after  a  short 
retirement,  we  find  him,  in  1771,  investing  a  part  of 
his  wife''s  fortune  in  a  share  in  the  Crow  Street  Theatre, 
Dublin,  where  he  made  his  first  appearance  with  great 
success  in  his  favourite  part  of  Major  O'Flaherty,  one 
of  the  characters  in  Cumberland's  comedy.  The  West 
Indian,  He  remained  one  of  the  pillars  of  this  theatre 
until  1782,  when  Ryder,  the  patentee,  became  a  bank- 
rupt. Owenson  was  then  engaged  by  Richard  Daly  to 
perform  at  the  Smock  Alley  Theatre,  and  also  to  fill  the 
post  of  assistant-manager. 

By  this  time  Sydney  had  made  her  appearance  in  the 
world,  arriving  on  Christmas  Day  in  some  unspecified 
year.  According  to  one  authority  she  was  born  on  ship- 
board during  the  passage  from  Holyhead  to  Dublin,  but 
she  tells  us  herself  that  she  was  born  at  her  father's  house 
in  Dublin  during  a  Christmas  banquet,  at  which  most  of 
the  leading  wits  and  literary  celeljrities  of  the  capital 
were  present.  The  whole  party  was  bidden  to  her 
christening  a  month  later,  and  Edward  Lysaght,  equally 
famous  as  a  lawyer  and  an  improvisatore,  undertook  to 
make  the  necessary  vows  in  her  name.  In  spite  of  this 
brilliant  send-off,  Sydney  was  not  destined  to  bring  good 
fortune  to  her  father's  house.  A  few  years  after  her 
birth  Owenson.  having  quarrelled  with  Daly,  invested  his 
savings  in  a  tumble- down  building  known  as  the  Old 
Music  Hall,  which  he  restored,  and  re-named  the 
National  Theatre.     The  season   opened   with   a  grand 

99 


LADY  MORGAN 

national  performance,  and  everything  promised  well, 
when,  like  a  bomb-shell,  came  the  announcement  that 
the  Government  had  granted  to  Richard  Daly  an  exclu- 
sive patent  for  the  performance  of  legitimate  drama  in 
Dublin.  Mr.  Owenson  was  thus  obliged  to  close  his 
theatre  at  the  end  of  his  first  season,  but  he  received 
some  compensation  for  his  losses,  and  was  offered  a  re- 
engagement  under  Daly  on  favourable  terms,  an  offer 
which  he  had  the  sense  to  accept. 

A  short  period  of  comparative  calm  and  freedom  from 
embarrassment  now  set  in  for  the  Owenson  family.  Mrs. 
Owenson  was  a  careful  mother,  and  extremely  anxious 
about  the  education  of  her  two  little  girls,  Sydney  and 
Olivia.  There  is  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  picture  of  the 
prim,  methodistical  English  lady,  who  hated  the  dirt  and 
slovenliness  of  her  husband's  people,  was  shocked  at  their 
jovial  ways  and  free  talk,  looked  upon  all  Papists  as  con- 
nections of  Antichrist,  and  hoped  for  the  salvation  of  man- 
kind through  the  form  of  religion  patronised  by  Lady 
Huntingdon.  She  was  accustomed  to  hold  up  as  an 
example  to  her  little  girls  the  career  of  a  certain  model 
child,  the  daughter  of  a  distant  kinsman.  Sir  Rowland 
Hill  of  Shropshire.  This  appalling  infant  had  read  the 
Bible  twice  through  before  she  was  five,  and  knitted  all 
the  stockings  worn  by  her  father's  coachman.  The  lively 
Sydney  detested  the  memory  of  her  virtuous  young  kins- 
woman, for  she  had  great  difficulty  in  mastering  the  art 
of  reading,  though  she  learned  easily  by  heart,  and  could 
imitate  almost  anything  she  saw.  At  a  very  early  age 
she  could  go  through  the  whole  elaborate  process  of 
hair-dressing,  from  the  first  papillote  to  the  last  pufF 
of  the  powder-machine,  and  amused  herself  by  arrang- 
ing her  father's  old  wigs  in  one  of  the  windows,  under 
100 


LADY  MORGAN 

the  inscription,  'Sydney  Owenson,  System,  Tete,  and 
Peruke  Maker/ 

Mr.  Owenson  found  his  friends  among  all  the  wildest 
wits  of  Dublin,  but  his  wife''s  society  was  strictly  limited, 
both  at  the  Old  Music  Hall,  part  of  which  had  been 
utilised  as  a  dwelling,  and  at  the  country  villa  that  her 
husband  had  taken  for  her  at  Drumcondra.  Yet  she 
does  not  appear  to  have  permitted  her  religious  prejudices 
to  interfere  with  her  social  relaxations,  since  her  three 
chief  intimates  at  this  time  were  the  Rev.  Charles 
Macklin  (nephew  of  the  actor),  a  great  performer  on  the 
Irish  pipes,  who  had  been  dismissed  from  his  curacy  for 
playing  out  the  congregation  on  his  favourite  instrument ; 
a  Methodist  preacher  who  had  come  over  on  one  of  Lady 
Huntingdon"'s  missions ;  and  a  Jesuit  priest,  who,  his  order 
being  proscribed  in  Ireland,  was  living  in  concealment, 
and  in  want,  it  was  believed,  of  the  necessaries  of  life. 
These  three  regularly  frequented  the  Old  Music  Hall, 
where  points  of  faith  were  freely  discussed,  Mrs.  Owenson 
holding  the  position  of  Protestant  Pope  in  the  little 
circle.  In  order  that  the  discussions  might  not  be  unpro- 
fitable, the  Catholic  servants  were  sometimes  permitted  to 
stand  at  the  door,  and  gather  up  the  crumbs  of  theo- 
logical wisdom. 

Female  visitors  were  few,  one  of  the  most  regular 
being  a  younger  sister  of  Oliver  Goldsmith,  who  lived 
with  a  grocer  brother  in  a  little  shop  which  was  after- 
wards occupied  by  the  father  of  Thomas  Moore.  Miss 
Goldsmith  was  a  plain,  little  old  lady,  who  always  carried 
a  long  tin  case,  containing  a  rouleaux  of  Dr.  Goldsmith's 
portraits,  which  she  offered  for  sale.  Sydney  much 
preferred  her  father's  friends,  more  especially  his  musical 
associates,  such  as  Giordani  the  composer,  and  Fisher  the 

101 


LADY  MORGAN 

violinist,  who  spent  most  of  their  time  at  his  house 
during  their  visits  to  Dublin.  The  children  used  to  hide 
under  the  table  to  hear  them  make  music,  and  picked  up 
many  melodies  by  ear.  When  Mr.  Owenson  was  asked 
why  he  did  not  cultivate  his  daughter's  talent,  he  replied, 
'  If  I  were  to  cultivate  their  talent  for  music,  it  might 
induce  them  some  day  to  go  upon  the  stage,  and  I  would 
rather  buy  them  a  sieve  of  black  cockles  to  cry  about  the 
streets  of  Dublin  than  see  them  the  first  prima  donnas 
of  Europe.' 

The  little  Owensons  possessed  one  remarkable  play- 
fellow in  the  shape  of  Thomas  Dermody,  the  '  wonderful 
boy,"*  who  was  regarded  in  Dublin  as  a  second  Chatterton. 
A  poor  scholar,  the  son  of  a  drunken  country  school- 
master, who  turned  him  adrift  at  fourteen,  Dermody  had 
wandered  up  to  Dublin,  paying  his  way  by  reciting 
poetry  and  telling  stories  to  his  humble  entertainers, 
with  a  few  tattered  books,  one  shirt,  and  two  shillings  for 
all  his  worldly  goods.  He  first  found  employment  as 
'librarian'  at  a  cobbler's  stall,  on  which  a  few  cheap 
books  were  exposed  for  sale.  Later,  he  got  employment 
as  assistant  to  the  scene-painter  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  and 
here  he  wrote  a  clever  poem  on  the  leading  performers, 
which  found  its  way  into  the  green-room.  Anxious 
to  see  the  author,  the  company,  Owenson  amongst  them, 
invaded  the  painting-room,  where  they  found  the  boy- 
poet,  clad  in  rags,  his  hair  clotted  with  glue,  his  face 
smeared  with  paint,  a  pot  of  size  in  one  hand  and  a  brush 
in  the  other.  The  sympathy  of  the  kind-hearted  players 
was  aroused,  and  it  was  decided  that  something  must  be 
done  for  youthful  genius  in  distress.  OAvenson  invited 
the  boy  to  his  house,  and,  by  way  of  testing  his  powers, 
set  him  to  write  a  poetical  theme  on  the  subject  of  Dublin 
102 


LADY  MORGAN 

University.  In  less  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour  the 
prodigy  returned  with  a  poem  of  fifty  lines,  which  showed 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  history  of  the  univer- 
sity from  its  foundation.  A  second  test  having  been 
followed  by  equally  satisfactory  results,  it  was  decided 
that  a  sum  of  money  should  be  raised  by  subscriptions, 
and  that  Dermody  should  be  assisted  to  enter  the  univer- 
sity. Owenson,  with  his  wife's  cordial  consent,  took  the 
young  poet  into  his  house,  and  treated  him  like  his  own 
son.  Unfortunately,  Dermody's  genius  was  weighted  by 
the  artistic  temperament;  he  was  lazy,  irregular  in  his 
attendance  at  college,  and  not  particularly  grateful  to  his 
benefactors.  By  his  own  acts  he  fell  out  of  favour,  the 
subscriptions  that  had  been  collected  were  returned  to 
the  donors,  and  his  career  would  have  come  to  an  abrupt 
conclusion,  if  it  had  not  been  that  Owenson  made  interest 
for  him  with  Lady  Moira,  a  distinguished  patron  of 
literature,  who  placed  him  in  the  charge  of  Dr.  Boyd,  the 
translator  of  Dante.  Dermody  must  have  had  his  good 
points,  for  he  was  a  favourite  with  Mrs.  Owenson,  and  the 
dear  friend  of  Sydney  and  Olivia,  whom  he  succeeded  in 
teaching  to  read  and  write,  a  task  in  which  all  other 
preceptors  had  failed. 

In  1788  Mrs.  Owenson  died  rather  suddenly,  and  the 
home  was  broken  up.  Sydney  and  Olivia  were  at  once 
placed  at  a  famous  Huguenot  school,  which  had  origin- 
ally been  established  at  Portarlington,  but  was  now 
removed  to  Clontarf,  near  Dublin.  For  the  next  three 
years  the  children  had  the  benefit  of  the  best  teaching 
that  could  then  be  obtained,  and  were  subjected  to 
a  discipline  which  Lady  Morgan  always  declared  was 
the  most  admirable  ever  introduced  into  a  *  female 
seminary**  in  any  country.     Sydney  soon  became  popular 

103 


LADY  MORGAN 

among  her  fellows,  thanks  to  her  knowledge  of  Irish  songs 
and  dances,  and  it  is  evident  that  her  schooldays  were 
among  the  happiest  and  most  healthful  of  her  early  life. 
The  school  was  an  expensive  one,  and  poor  Owenson,  who, 
with  all  his  faults,  seems  to  have  been  a  careful  and 
affectionate  father,  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  pay  for  the 
many  '  extras.' 

'  I  remember  once,'  writes  Lady  Morgan,  '  our  music- 
teacher  complained  to  my  father  of  our  idleness  as  he  sat 
beside  us  at  the  piano,  and  we  stumbled  through  the 
overture  to  Artaxerxes.  His  answer  to  her  complaint 
was  simple  and  graphic — for,  drawing  up  the  sleeve  of 
a  handsome  surtout,  he  showed  the  threadbare  sleeve 
of  the  black  coat  beneath,  and  said,  touching  the 
whitened  seams,  "  I  should  not  be  driven  to  the  subter- 
fuge of  wearing  a  greatcoat  this  hot  weather  to  conceal 
the  poverty  of  my  dress  beneath,  if  it  were  not  that  I 
wish  to  give  you  the  advantage  of  such  instruction  as 
you  are  now  neglecting."  "*  The  shaft  went  home,  and 
the  music-mistress  had  no  occasion  to  complain  again. 

After  three  years  the  headmistress  retired  on  her 
fortune,  the  school  was  given  up,  and  the  two  girls  were 
placed  at  what  they  considered  a  very  inferior  establish- 
ment in  Dublin.  Here,  however,  they  had  the  delight 
of  seeing  their  father  every  Sunday,  when  the  widower, 
leaving  the  attractions  of  the  city  behind,  took  his  little 
daughters  out  walking  with  him.  To  this  time  belong 
memories  of  early  visits  to  the  theatre,  where  Sydney  saw 
Mrs.  Siddons  for  the  first  and  last  time,  and  Miss  Farren 
as  Susan  in  the  Marinage  of  Figaro^  just  before  her 
own  marriage  to  Lord  Derby.  During  the  summer 
seasons  Mr.  Owenson  toured  round  the  provinces,  and 
generally  took  his  daughters  with  him,  who  seem  to 
104 


LADY  MORGAN 

have  been  made  much  of  by  the  neighbouring  county 
families. 

In  1794  the  too  optimistic  Owenson  unfortunately  took 
it  into  his  head  that  it  would  be  an  excellent  speculation 
to  build  a  summer  theatre  at  Kilkenny.  Lord  Ormond, 
who  took  an  interest  in  the  project,  gave  a  piece  of 
land  opposite  the  castle  gates,  money  was  borrowed, 
the  theatre  quickly  built,  and  performers  brought  at 
great  expense  from  Dublin.  During  the  summer  the 
house  was  filled  nightly  by  overflowing  audiences,  and 
everything  promised  well,  when  the  attorney  who  held  a 
mortgage  on  the  building,  foreclosed,  and  bills  to  an 
enormous  amount  were  presented.  Mr.  Owenson  suddenly 
departed  for  the  south  of  Ireland,  having  been  advised  to 
keep  out  of  the  way  until  after  the  final  meeting  of  his 
creditors.  His  two  daughters  were  placed  in  Dublin 
lodgings  under  the  care  of  their  faithful  old  servant, 
Molly  Atkins,  until  their  school  should  reopen. 

Sydney  had  been  requested  to  write  to  her  father  every 
day,  and  as  she  was  passionately  fond,  to  quote  her 
own  words,  of  writing  about  anything  to  any  one,  she 
willingly  obeyed,  trusting  to  chance  for  franks.  Some  of 
these  youthful  epistles  were  preserved  by  old  Molly,  the 
packet  being  indorsed  on  the  cover,  '  Letters  from  Miss 
Sydney  Owenson  to  her  father,  God  pity  her ! '  But  the 
young  lady  evidently  did  not  consider  herself  an  object 
of  pity,  for  she  writes  in  the  best  of  spirits  about  the 
books  she  is  reading,  the  people  she  is  meeting,  and  all 
the  little  gaieties  and  excitements  of  her  life.  Somebody 
lends  her  an  Essay  on  the  Human  Understandings  by 
Mr.  I.K)cke,  Gent.,  whose  theories  she  has  no  difficulty  in 
understanding;  and  somebody  else  talks  to  her  about 
chemistry  (a  word  she  has  never  heard  at  school),  and 

105 


LADY  MORGAN 

declares  that  her  questions  are  so  suggestive  (another 
new  word)  that  she  might  become  a  second  Pauline 
Lavosier.  She  puts  her  new  knowledge  to  practical 
effect  by  writing  with  a  piece  of  phosphorus  on  her  bed- 
room wall,  '  Molly,  beware  ! '  with  the  result  that  Molly 
is  frightened  out  of  her  wits,  the  young  experimenter 
burns  her  hand,  and  the  house  is  nearly  set  on  fire.  The 
eccentric  Dermody  turns  up  again,  now  a  smart  young 
ensign,  having  temporarily  forsaken  letters,  and  obtained 
a  commission  through  the  interest  of  Lord  Moira.  He 
addresses  a  flattering  poem  to  Sydney,  and  passes  on  to 
rejoin  his  regiment  at  Cork,  whence  he  is  to  sail  for 
Flanders. 

Mr.  Owenson's  affairs  did  not  improve.  He  tried  his 
fortune  in  various  provincial  theatres,  but  the  political 
ferment  of  the  years  immediately  preceding  the  Union, 
the  disturbed  state  of  the  country,  and  the  persecution  of 
the  Catholics,  all  spelt  ruin  for  theatrical  enterprises. 
As  soon  as  Sydney  realised  her  true  position  she  rose  to 
the  occasion,  and  the  letter  that  she  wrote  to  her  father, 
proposing  to  relieve  him  of  the  burden  of  her  mainten- 
ance, is  full  of  affection  and  spirit.  It  will  be  observed 
that  as  yet  she  is  contented  to  express  herself  simply  and 
naturally,  without  the  fine  language,  the  incessant  quota- 
tions, and  the  mangled  French  that  disfigured  so  much 
of  her  published  work.  The  girl,  who  must  now  have 
been  seventeen  or  eighteen,  had  seen  her  father's  name 
on  the  list  of  bankrupts,  but  it  had  been  explained  to 
her  that,  with  time  and  economy,  he  would  come  out 
of  his  difficulties  as  much  respected  as  ever.  Having 
informed  him  of  her  determination  not  to  return  to 
school,  but  to  support  herself  in  future,  she  continues  : — 

'Now,  dear  papa,  I  have  two  novels  nearly  finished. 
106 


LADY  MORGAN 

The  first  is  Si.  Clair;  I  think  I  wrote  it  in  imitation  of 
Werther,  which  I  read  last  Christmas.  The  second  is  a 
French  novel,  suggested  by  my  reading  the  Memoirs  of 
the  Due  de  Sully,  and  falling  in  love  with  Henri  iv. 
Now,  if  I  had  time  and  quiet  to  finish  them,  I  am  sure 
I  could  sell  them;  and  observe,  sir,  Miss  Burney  got 
riE'SOOO  for  Camilla,  and  brought  out  Evelina  unknown 
to  her  father;  but  all  this  takes  time.'  Sydney  goes  on 
to  suggest  that  Olivia  shall  be  placed  at  a  school,  where 
Molly  could  be  taken  as  children's  maid,  and  that  she 
herself  should  seek  a  situation  as  governess  or  companion 
to  young  ladies. 

Through  the  good  offices  of  her  old  dancing-master, 
M.  Fontaine,  who  had  been  appointed  master  of  cere- 
monies at  the  castle,  Sydney  was  introduced  to  Mrs. 
Featherstone,  or  Featherstonehaugh,  of  Bracklin  Castle, 
who  required  a  governess-companion  to  her  young 
daughters,  and  apparently  did  not  object  to  youth  and 
inexperience.  The  girPs  Mut  in  her  employer's  family 
would  scarcely  have  made  a  favourable  impression  in  any 
country  less  genial  and  tolerant  than  the  Ireland  of  that 
period.  On  the  night  of  her  departure  M.  Fontaine  gave 
a  little  bal  cTadieu  in  her  honour,  and  as  the  mail  passed 
the  end  of  his  street  at  midnight,  it  was  arranged  that 
Sydney  should  take  her  travelling-dress  with  her  to  the 
ball,  and  change  before  starting  on  her  journey.  Of 
course  she  took  no  count  of  the  time,  and  was  gaily 
dancing  to  the  tune  of  *  Money  in  Both  Pockets,'  with  an 
agreeable  partner,  when  the  horn  sounded  at  the  end  of 
the  street.  Like  an  Irish  Cinderella,  away  flew  Sydney 
in  her  muslin  gown  and  pink  shoes  and  stockings,  followed 
by  her  admirers,  laden  with  her  portmanteau  and  bundle 
of  clothes.     There  was  just  time  for  Molly  to  throw  an 

107 


LADY  MORGAN 

old  cloak  over  her  charge,  and  then  the  coach  door  was 
banged-to,  and  the  little  governess  travelled  away  through 
the  winter's  night.  In  the  excitement  of  an  adventure 
with  an  officer  en  route,  she  allowed  her  luggage  to  be 
carried  on  in  the  coach,  and  arrived  at  Bracklin,  a  shiver- 
ing little  object,  in  her  muslin  frock  and  pink  satin  shoes. 
Her  stammered  explanations  were  received  with  amuse- 
ment and  sympathy  by  her  kind-hearted  hosts,  and  she 
was  carried  off  to  her  own  rooms,  '  the  prettiest  suite  you 
ever  saw,'  she  tells  her  father,  'a  study,  bedroom,  and 
bath-room,  a  roaring  turf  fire  in  the  rooms,  an  open 
piano,  and  lots  of  books  scattered  about.  Betty,  the  old 
nurse,  brought  me  a  bowl  of  laughing  potatoes,  and  gave 
me  a  hearty  "Much  good  may  it  do  you,  miss";  and  didn't 
I  tip  her  a  word  of  Irish,  which  delighted  her.  .  .  .  Our 
dinner-party  were  mamma  and  the  two  young  ladies, 
two  itinerant  preceptors,  a  writing  and  elocution  master, 
and  a  dancing-master,  and  Father  Murphy,  the  P.P. — such 
fun! — and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Beaufort, the  curate  of  Castletown.' 
Miss  Sydney  was  quite  at  her  ease  with  all  these  new 
acquaintances,  and  so  brilliant  were  her  sallies  at  dinner 
that,  according  to  her  own  account,  the  men-servants 
were  obliged  to  stuff  their  napkins  down  their  throats  till 
they  were  nearly  suffocated.  The  priest  proposed  her 
health  in  a  comic  speech,  and  a  piper  having  come  up  on 
purpose  to  '  play  in  Miss  Owenson,'  the  evening  wound 
up  with  the  dancing  of  Irish  jigs,  and  the  singing  of  Irish 
songs.  One  is  inclined  to  doubt  whether  Sydney's  instruc- 
tions were  of  much  scientific  value,  but  it  is  evident  that 
she  enjoyed  her  occupation,  was  the  very  good  friend  of 
both  employers  and  pupils,  and  knew  nothing  of  the 
snubs  and  neglect  experienced  by  so  many  of  our  modern 
Jane  Eyres. 
108 


LADY  MORGAN 

The  death  of  Mrs.  Featherstone's  mother,  Lady  Steele, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  belles  of  Lord  Chesterfield's 
court,  placed  a  fine  old  house  in  Dominic  Street,  Dublin, 
at  the  disposal  of  the  family.  At  the  head  of  the  musical 
society  of  Dublin  at  that  date  was  Sir  John  Stevenson, 
who  is  now  chiefly  remembered  for  his  arrangement  of 
the  airs  to  Moore'^s  Melodies.  One  day,  while  giving  a 
lesson  to  the  Miss  Featherstones,  Sir  John  sung  a  song 
by  Moore,  of  whom  Sydney  had  then  never  heard.  Pleased 
at  her  evident  appreciation,  Stevenson  asked  if  she  would 
like  to  meet  the  poet,  and  promised  to  take  her  and 
Olivia  to  a  little  musical  party  at  his  mother's  house. 
Moore  had  already  made  a  success  in  London  society, 
which  he  followed  up  in  the  less  exclusive  circles  of 
Dublin,  and  it  was  only  between  a  party  at  the  Provosfs 
and  another  at  Lady  Antrim's  that  he  could  dash  into 
the  paternal  shop  for  a  few  minutes  to  sing  a  couple  of 
songs  for  his  mother's  guests.  But  the  effect  of  his 
performance  upon  the  Owenson  sisters  was  electrical. 
They  went  home  in  such  a  state  of  spiritual  exaltation, 
that  they  forgot  to  undress  before  getting  into  bed,  and 
awoke  to  plan,  the  one  a  new  romance,  the  other  a 
portrait  of  the  poet. 

Sydney  had  already  finished  her  first  novel,  St.  Clair, 
which  she  determined  to  take  secretly  to  a  publisher. 
We  are  given  to  understand  that  this  was  her  first 
independent  literary  attempt,  though  she  tells  us  that 
her  father  had  printed  a  little  volume  of  her  poems, 
written  between  the  ages  of  twelve  and  fourteen.  This 
book  seems  to  have  l)een  published,  however,  in  1801, 
when  the  author  must  have  been  at  least  one-and-twenty. 
It  was  dedicated  to  Lady  Moira,  through  whose  influence 
it  found  its  way  into  the  most  fashionable  boudoirs  of 

109 


LADY  MORGAN 

Dublin.  Be  this  as  it  may,  Sydney  gives  a  picturesque 
description  of  her  early  morning''s  ramble  in  search  of  a 
publisher.  She  eventually  left  her  manuscript  in  the 
reluctant  hands  of  a  Mr.  Brown,  who  promised  to 
submit  it  to  his  reader,  and  returned  to  her  employer's 
house  before  her  absence  had  been  remarked.  The  next 
day  the  family  left  Dublin  for  Bracklin,  and  as  Sydney 
had  forgotten  to  give  her  address  to  the  publisher, 
it  is  not  surprising  that,  for  the  time  being,  she  heard 
no  more  of  her  bantling.  Some  months  later,  when 
she  was  in  Dublin  again,  she  picked  up  a  novel  in  a 
friend's  house,  and  found  that  it  was  her  own  St.  Clair. 
On  recalling  herself  to  the  publisher's  memory,  she 
received  the  handsome  remuneration  of — four  copies  of 
her  own  work !  The  book,  a  foolish,  high-flown  story, 
a  long  way  after  Werther,  had  some  success  in  Dublin, 
and  brought  its  author — literary  ladies  being  com- 
paratively few  at  that  period — a  certain  meed  of  social 
fame. 

Mr.  Owenson,  who  had  left  the  stage  in  1798,  was 
settled  at  Coleraine  at  this  time,  and  desired  to  have 
both  his  daughters  with  him.  Accordingly,  Sydney  gave 
up  her  employment,  and  tried  to  make  herself  contented 
at  home.  But  the  dulness  and  discomfort  of  the  life 
were  too  much  for  her,  and  after  a  few  months  she  took 
another  situation  as  governess,  this  time  with  a  Mrs. 
Crawford  at  Fort  William,  where  she  seems  to  have  been 
as  much  petted  and  admired  as  at  Bracklin.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  Sydney  Owenson  was  a  flirt,  a  sentimental 
flirt,  who  loved  playing  with  fire,  but  it  has  been  hinted 
that  she  was  inclined  to  represent  the  polite  attentions 
of  her  gallant  countrymen  as  serious  affairs  of  the  heart. 
She  left  behind  her  a  packet  of  love-letters  (presented  to 
110 


LADY  MORGAN 

her  husband  after  her  marriage),  and  some  of  these  are 
quoted  in  her  Memoirs.  The  majority,  however,  point 
to  no  very  definite  'intentions'  on  the  part  of  the 
writers,  but  are  composed  in  the  artificially  romantic  vein 
which  Rousseau  had  brought  into  fashion.  Among  the 
letters  are  one  or  two  from  the  unfortunate  Dermody, 
who  had  retired  on  half-pay,  and  was  now  living  in 
London,  engaged  in  writing  his  Memoirs  (he  was  in 
the  early  twenties)  and  preparing  his  poems  for  the 
press. 

'  Were  you  a  Venus  I  should  forget  you,"*  he  writes  to 
Sydney,  '  but  you  are  a  Laura,  a  Leonora,  and  an  Eloisa, 
all  in  one  delightful  assemblage."*  He  is  evidently  a  little 
piqued  by  Sydney's  admiration  of  Moore,  for  in  a  letter 
to  Mr.  Owenson  he  asks,  '  Who  is  the  Mr.  Moore  Sydney 
mentions  ?  He  is  nobody  here,  I  assure  you,  of  eminence.' 
A  little  later,  however,  he  writes  to  Sydney^:  'You  are 
mistaken  if  you  imagine  I  have  not  the  highest  respect 
for  your  friend  Moore.  I  have  written  the  review  of  his 
poems  in  a  strain  of  panegyric  to  which  I  am  not 
frequently  accustomed.  I  am  told  he  is  a  most  worthy 
young  man,  and  I  am  certain  myself  of  his  genius  and 
erudition.'  Dermody's  own  career  was  nearly  at  an 
end.  He  died  of  consumption  in  1802,  aged  only 
twenty-five. 

If  Sydney  scandalised  even  the  easy-going  society  of 
the  period  by  her  audacious  flirtations,  she  seems  to  have 
had  the  peculiarly  Irish  faculty  of  keeping  her  head  in 
affairs  of  the  heart,  and  dancing  in  perfect  security  on 
the  edge  of  a  gulf  of  sentiment  Her  work  helped  to 
steady  her,  and  the  love-scenes  in  her  novels  served  as  a 
safety-valve  for  her  ardent  imagination.  Her  father, 
notoriously  happy-go-lucky  about  his  own  affairs,  was  a 

111 


LADY  MORGAN 

careful  guardian  of  his  daughters'  reputation,  while  old 
Molly  was  a  dragon  of  propriety.  Sydney,  moreover,  had 
acquired  one  or  two  women  friends,  much  older  than 
herself,  such  as  the  literary  Lady  Charleville,  and  Mrs. 
Lefanu,  sister  of  Sheridan,  who  were  always  ready  with 
advice  and  sympathy.  With  Mrs.  Lefanu  Sydney  corre- 
sponded regularly  for  many  years,  and  in  her  letters 
discusses  the  debatable  points  in  her  books,  and  enlarges 
upon  her  own  character  and  temperament.  Chief  among 
her  ambitions  at  this  time  was  that  of  being  '  every  inch 
a  woman,'  and  she  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  fashionable 
theory  that  true  womanliness  was  incompatible  with 
learning.  '  I  dropped  the  study  of  chemistry,"  she  tells 
her  friend,  '  though  urged  to  it  by  a  favourite  preceptor, 
lest  I  should  be  less  the  woman.  Seduced  by  taste  and  a 
thousand  arguments  to  Greek  and  Latin,  I  resisted,  lest 
I  should  not  be  a  very  woman.  And  I  have  studied 
music  as  a  sentiment  rather  than  as  a  science,  and 
drawing  as  an  amusement  rather  than  as  an  art,  lest 
I  should  become  a  musical  pedant,  or  a  masculine 
artist." 

In  1803,  the  Crawfords  having  decided  to  leave  Fort 
William  and  live  entirely  in  the  country,  Sydney,  who 
had  a  mortal  dread  of  boredom,  gave  up  her  situation, 
and  returned  to  her  father,  who  was  now  settled  near 
Strabane.  Here  she  occupied  her  leisure  in  writing  a 
second  novel.  The  Novice  of  St.  Dominic^  in  six  volumes. 
When  this  was  completed,  Mrs.  Lefanu  advised  her  to 
take  it  to  London  herself,  and  arrange  for  its  publication. 
Quite  alone,  and  with  very  little  money  in  her  pocket, 
the  girl  travelled  to  London,  and  presented  herself  before 
Sir  Richard  Phillips,  a  well-known  publisher,  with  whom 
she  had  already  had  some  correspondence.  If  we  may 
112 


LADY  MORGAN 

believe  her  own  testimony,  Sir  Richard  fell  an  easy  victim 
to  her  fascinations,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  was 
very  kind  to  her,  introduced  her  to  his  wife,  and  found 
her  a  lodging.  Better  still,  he  bought  her  book  (we  are 
not  told  the  price),  and  paid  her  for  it  at  once.  The 
first  purchases  that  she  made  with  her  own  earnings  were 
a  small  Irish  harp,  which  accompanied  her  thereafter 
wherever  she  went,  and  a  black  '  mode  cloak/  After  her 
return  to  Ireland,  Phillips  corresponded  with  her,  and 
gave  her  literary  advice,  which  is  interesting  in  so  far  as 
it  shows  what  the  reading  public  of  that  day  wcuited,  or 
was  supposed  to  want. 

*The  world  is  not  informed  about  Ireland,"  wrote  the 
publisher,  'and  I  am  in  a  condition  to  command  the 
light  to  shine.  I  am  sorry  you  have  assumed  the  novel 
form.  A  series  of  letters  addressed  to  a  friend  in  London, 
taking  for  your  model  the  letters  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu,  would  have  secured  you  the  most  extensive 
reading.  A  matter-of-fact  and  didactic  novel  is  neither 
one  thing  nor  the  other,  and  suits  no  class  of  readers. 
Certainly,  however,  Paul  and  Virginia  would  suggest  a 
local  plan ;  and  it  will  be  possible  by  writing  three  or 
four  times  over  in  six  or  eight  months  to  produce  what 
would  command  attention."  Sir  Richard  concluded  his 
advice  with  the  assurance  that  his  correspondent  had  it 
in  her  to  write  an  immortal  work,  if  she  would  only  labour 
it  sufficiently,  and  that  her  third  copy  was  certain  to  be 
a  monument  of  Irish  genius.  Miss  Owenson  was  the 
last  person  to  act  upon  the  above  directions ;  her  books 
read  as  if  they  were  dashed  off  in  a  fine  frenzy  of 
composition.  Perhaps  she  feared  that  her  cherished 
womanliness  would  be  endangered  by  too  close  an  atten- 
tion to  accuracy  and  style. 

H  118 


LADY  MORGAN 

The  Novice,  which  appeared  in  1804,  was  better  than 
St.  Clair,  but  such  success  as  it  enjoyed  must  have  been 
due  to  the  prevailing  scarcity  of  first-rate,  or  even  second- 
rate  novelists,  rather  than  to  its  own  intrinsic  merits. 
The  public  taste  in  fiction  was  not  fastidious,  and  could 
swallow  long-winded  discussions  and  sentimental  rhodo- 
montade  with  an  appetite  that  now  seems  almost 
incredible.  The  Novice  is  said  to  have  been  a  favourite 
with  Pitt  in  his  last  illness,  but  if  this  be  true,  the  fact 
points  rather  to  the  decay  of  the  statesman's  intellect 
than  to  the  literary  value  of  the  book.  Still  the  author 
was  tasting  all  the  sweets  of  fame.  She  was  much  in 
request  as  a  literary  celebrity,  and  somebody  had  actually 
written  for  permission  to  select  the  best  passages  from 
her  two  books  for  publication  in  a  work  called  The 
Morality  of  English  Novels. 

In  the  same  year,  1804,  an  anonymous  attack  upon  the 
Irish  stage  in  six  Familiar  Epistles  was  published  in 
Dublin.  So  cruel  and  venomous  were  these  epistles  that 
one  actor,  Edwin,  is  believed  to  have  died  of  chagrin  at 
the  attack  upon  his  reputation.  An  answer  to  the  libel 
presently  appeared,  which  was  signed  S.  O.,  and  has  been 
generally  attributed  to  Sydney  Owenson.  The  Familiar 
Epistles  were  believed  to  be  the  work  of  John  Wilson 
Croker,  then  young  and  unknown,  and  it  may  be  that  the 
lifelong  malignity  with  which  that  critic  pursued  Lady 
Morgan  was  due  to  this  early  crossing  of  swords. 
Sydney  herself  was  fond  of  hinting  that  Croker,  in  his 
obscure  days,  had  paid  her  attentions  which  she,  as  a 
successful  author,  had  not  cared  to  encourage,  and  that 
wounded  vanity  was  at  the  bottom  of  his  hatred. 

The  next  book  on  which  Miss  Owenson  engaged  was, 
if  not  her  best,  the  one  by  which  she  is  best  known, 
114 


LADY  MORGAN 

namely,  The  Wild  Irish  Girl.  The  greater  part  of  this 
was  written  while  she  was  staging  with  Sir  Malby 
Crofton  at  Longford  House,  from  whose  family,  as  has 
been  seen,  she  claimed  to  be  descended.  Miss  Crofton 
sat  for  the  portrait  of  the  heroine,  and  much  of  the 
scenery  was  sketched  in  the  wild  romantic  neighbourhood. 
About  the  same  time  she  collected  and  translated  a 
number  of  Irish  songs  which  were  published  under  the 
title  of  The  Lay  of  the  Irish  Harp.  She  thus  anticipated 
Moore,  and  other  explorers  in  this  field,  for  which  fact 
Moore  at  least  gives  her  credit  in  the  preface  to  his  own 
collection.  She  was  not  a  poet,  but  she  wrote  one 
ballad,  'Kate  Kearney ,"*  which  became  a  popular  song, 
and  is  not  yet  forgotten. 

The  story  of  The  Wild  Irish  Girl  is  said  to  have  been 
founded  upon  an  incident  in  the  author'*s  own  life.  A 
young  man  named  Everard  had  fallen  in  love  with  her, 
but  as  he  was  wild,  idle,  and  penniless,  his  father  called 
upon  her  to  beg  her  not  to  encourage  him,  but  to  use 
her  influence  to  make  him  stick  to  his  work.  Sydney 
behaved  so  well  in  the  matter  that  the  elder  Mr.  Everard 
desired  to  marry  her  himself,  and  though  his  offer  was 
not  accepted,  he  remained  her  staunch  friend  and  admirer. 
The  *  local  colour  "^  in  the  book  is  carefully  worked  up ; 
indeed,  in  the  present  day  it  would  probably  be  thought 
that  the  story  was  overweighted  by  the  account  of  local 
manners  and  customs.  Phillips,  alarmed  at  the  liberal 
principles  displayed  in  the  work,  which  he  thought  would 
be  distasteful  to  English  patriots,  refused  at  first  to  give 
the  author  her  price.  To  his  horror  and  indignation 
Miss  Owenson,  whom  he  regarded  as  his  own  particular 
property,  instantly  sent  the  manuscript  to  a  rival  book- 
seller,  Johnson,    who    published    for    Miss    Edgeworth. 

115 


LADY  MORGAN 

Johnson  offered  c£300  for  the  book,  while  Phillips  had 
only  offered  .£'200  down,  and  £50  on  the  publication  of 
the  second  and  third  editions  respectively.  The  latter, 
however,  was  unable  to  make  up  his  mind  to  lose  the 
treasure,  and  after  much  hesitation  and  many  heart- 
burnings, he  finally  wrote  to  Miss  Owenson : — 

'Dear  bewitching  and  deluding  Syren, — Not  being 
able  to  part  from  you,  I  have  promised  your  noble  and 
magnanimous  friend,  Atkinson  [who  was  conducting  the 
negotiations],  the  .^'SOO.  ...  It  will  be  long  before  I 
forgive  you  !  At  least  not  till  I  have  got  back  the  <£'300 
and  another  <£'100  along  with  it.'  Then  follows  a  passage 
which  proves  that  the  literary  market,  in  those  days  at 
any  rate,  was  not  overstocked  :  '  If  you  know  any  poor 
bard— a  real  one,  no  pretender — I  will  give  him  a  guinea 
a  page  for  his  rhymes  in  the  Monthly  Magazine.  I  will 
also  give  for  prose  communications  at  the  rate  of  six 
guineas  a  sheet."* 

The  Wild  Irish  Girl,  whose  title  was  suggested  by 
Peter  Pindar,  made  a  hit,  more  especially  in  Ireland, 
and  the  author  woke  to  find  herself  famous.  She  be- 
came known  to  all  her  friends  as  '  Glorvina,"*  the  name 
of  the  heroine,  while  the  Glorvina  ornament,  a  golden 
bodkin,  and  the  Glorvina  mantle  became  fashionable 
in  Dublin.  The  book  was  bitterly  attacked,  probably 
by  Croker,  in  the  FreemariS  Journal,  but  the  best  bit 
of  criticism  upon  it  is  contained  in  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Edgeworth  to  Miss  Owenson.  'Maria,'  he  says,  'who 
reads  as  well  as  she  writes,  has  entertained  us  with 
several  passages  from  The  Wild  Irish  Girl,  which  I 
thought  superior  to  any  parts  of  the  book  I  had  read. 
Upon  looking  over  her  shoulder,  I  found  she  had  omitted 
116 


LADY  MORGAN 

some  superfluous  epithets.  Dared  she  have  done  this  if 
you  had  been  by  ?  I  think  she  would ;  because  your 
good  sense  and  good  taste  would  have  been  instantly 
her  defenders."*  It  must  be  admitted  that  all  Lady 
Morgan's  works  would  have  gained  by  the  like  treat- 
ment. 

In  an  article  called  '  My  First  Rout,'  which  appeared 
in  The  Booh  of  the  Bmidoir  (published  in  1829),  Lady 
Morgan  describes  a  party  at  Lady  Cork's,  where  she  was 
lionised  by  her  hostess,  the  other  guests  having  been 
invited  to  meet  the  Wild  Irish  Girl.  The  celebrities 
present  were  brought  up  and  introduced  to  Miss  Owenson 
with  a  running  comment  from  Lady  Cork,  which,  though 
it  must  be  taken  with  a  grain  of  salt,  is  worth  tran- 
scribing : — 

'  Lord  Erskine,  this  is  the  Wild  Irish  Girl  you  were 
so  anxious  to  meet.  I  assure  you  she  talks  quite  as  well 
as  she  writes.  Now,  my  dear,  do  tell  Lord  Erskine  some 
of  those  Irish  stories  you  told  us  at  Lord  Charleville's. 
Mrs.  Abington  says  you  would  make  a  famous  actress, 
she  does  indeed.  This  is  the  Duchess  of  St.  Albans — 
she  has  your  WUd  Irish  Girl  by  heart.  Where  is 
Sheridan  ?  Oh,  here  he  is ;  what,  you  know  each  other 
already  ?  Tant  miettx.  Mr.  Lewis,  do  come  forward ; 
this  is  Monk  Lewis,  of  whom  you  have  heard  so  much — 
but  you  must  not  read  his  works,  they  are  very  naughty. 
.  .  .  You  know  Mr.  Gell ;  he  calls  you  the  Irish  Corinne. 
Your  friend,  Mr.  Moore,  ^nll  be  here  by-and-by.  Do 
•ee,  somebody,  if  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Mr.  Kemble  are  come 
yet.  Now  pray  tell  us  the  scene  at  the  Irish  baronet's 
in  the  Rebellion  that  you  told  to  the  ladies  of  Llangollen ; 
and  then  give  us  your  blue-stocking  dinner  at  Sir  Richard 
Phillips'' ;  and  describe  the  Irish  priests.' 

117 


LADY  MORGAN 

At  supper  Sydney  was  placed  between  Lord  Erskine 
and  Lord  Carysfort,  and  was  just  beginning  to  feel  at 
her  ease  when  Mr.  Kemble  was  announced.  Mr.  Kemble, 
it  soon  became  apparent,  had  been  dining,  and  had  paid 
too  much  attention  to  the  claret.  Sitting  down  opposite 
Miss  Owenson,  he  fixed  her  with  an  intense  and  glassy 
stare.  Unfortunately,  her  hair,  which  she  wore  in  the 
fashionable  curly  '  crop,"*  aroused  his  curiosity.  Stretch- 
ing unsteadily  across  the  table,  he  suddenly,  to  quote  her 
own  words,  '  struck  his  claws  into  my  locks,  and  address- 
ing me  in  his  deepest  tones,  asked,  "  Little  girl,  where 
did  you  buy  your  wig?""*  Lord  Erskine  hastily  came 
to  the  rescue,  but  Kemble,  rendered  peevish  by  his 
interference,  took  a  volume  of  The  Wild  Irish  Girl 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  after  reading  aloud  one  of  the 
most  high-flown  passages,  asked,  '  Little  girl,  why  did 
you  write  such  nonsense,  and  where  did  you  get  all 
those  hard  words.?**  Sydney  delighted  the  company 
by  blurting  out  the  truth :  '  Sir,  I  wrote  as  well  as 
I  could,  and  I  got  the  hard  words  out  of  Johnson's 
Dictionary."  That  Kemble  spoke  the  truth  in  his  cups 
may  be  proved  by  the  following  sentence,  which  is  a  fair 
sample  of  the  general  style  of  the  book :  '  With  a  char- 
acter tinctured  with  the  brightest  colouring  of  romantic 
eccentricity  [a  father  is  describing  his  son,  the  hero],  but 
marked  by  indelible  traces  of  innate  rectitude,  and  en- 
nobled by  the  purest  principles  of  native  generosity,  the 
proudest  sense  of  inviolable  honour,  I  beheld  him  rush 
eagerly  on  life,  enamoured  of  its  seeming  good,  incredu- 
lous of  its  latent  evils,  till,  fatally  entangled  in  the  spells 
of  the  latter,  he  fell  an  early  victim  to  their  successful 
allurements."* 

The  Wild  Irish  Girl  was  followed  by  Patriotic  Sketches 
118 


LADY  MORGAN 

and  a  volume  of  poems,  for  which  Sir  Richard  Phillips 
offered  i?100  before  he  read  them.  A  little  later,  in 
1807,  an  operetta  called  The  First  Attempt^  or  the  Whim 
of  the  Moment^  the  libretto  by  Miss  Owenson  and  the 
music  by  T.  Cooke,  was  performed  at  the  Dublin  Theatre. 
The  Duke  of  Bedford,  then  Lord-Lieutenant,  attended 
in  state,  the  Duchess  wore  a  Glorvina  bodkin,  and  the 
entertainment  was  also  patronised  by  the  officers  of  the 
garrison  and  all  the  liberal  members  of  the  Irish  bar. 
The  little  piece,  in  which  Mr.  Owenson  acted  an  Irish 
character,  was  played  for  several  nights,  and  brought 
its  author  the  handsome  sum  of  i?400.  This,  however, 
seems  to  have  been  Sydney's  first  and  last  attempt  at 
dramatic  composition. 

The  family  fortunes  had  improved  somewhat  at  this 
time,  for  Olivia,  who  had  gone  out  as  a  governess,  be- 
came engaged  to  Dr.,  afterwards  Sir  Arthur  Clarke,  a 
plain,  elderly  little  gentleman,  who,  however,  made  her 
an  excellent  husband.  Having  a  good  house  and  a  com- 
fortable income,  he  was  able  to  offer  a  home  to  Mr. 
Owenson  and  to  the  faithful  Molly.  For  the  present, 
Sydney,  though  always  on  excellent  terms  with  her 
brother-in-law,  preferred  her  independence.  She  estab- 
lished herself  in  lodgings  in  Dublin,  and  made  the  most 
of  the  position  that  her  works  had  won  for  her.  Her  flirt- 
ations and  indiscretions  provided  the  town  with  plenty 
of  occasion  for  scandal,  and  there  is  a  tradition  that  one 
strictly  proper  old  lady,  on  being  asked  to  chaperon 
Miss  Owenson  to  the  Castle,  replied  that  when  Miss 
Owenson  wore  more  petticoats  and  less  paint  she  would 
be  happy  to  do  so.  Yet  another  tradition  has  been 
handed  down  to  the  effect  that  Miss  Owenson  appeared 
at  one  of  the  Viceregal  balls  in  a  dress,  the  bodice  of 

119 


LADY  MORGAN 

which  was  trimmed  with  the  portraits  of  her  rejected 
lovers ! 

Foremost  among  our  heroine's  admirers  at  this  time 
was  Sir  Charles  Ormsby,  K.C.,  then  member  for  Munster, 
He  was  a  widower,  deeply  in  debt,  and  a  good  deal 
older  than  Sydney,  but  if  there  was  no  actual  engage- 
ment, there  was  certainly  an  '  understanding '  between 
the  pair.  In  May,  1808,  Miss  Owenson  was  on  a  visit 
to  the  Dowager  Lady  Stanley  of  Alderley  at  Penrhos 
(one  of  the  new  friends  her  celebrity  had  gained  for  her), 
whence  she  wrote  a  sentimental  epistle  to  Sir  Charles 
Ormsby.  The  Sir  John  Stanley  mentioned  in  the  letter 
was  the  husband  of  Maria  Josepha  Holroyd,  to  whom  he 
had  been  married  in  1796. 

'  The  figure  and  person  of  Lady  Stanley  are  inimit- 
able,"*  writes  Sydney.  '  Vandyck  would  have  estimated 
her  at  millions.  Though  old,  her  manners,  her  mind,  and 
her  conversation  are  all  of  the  best  school.  .  .  .  Sir  John 
Stanley  is  a  man  comme  il  y  en  a  peu.  Something  at 
first  of  English  reserve ;  but  when  worn  off,  I  never  met 
a  mind  more  daring,  more  independent  in  its  reflections, 
more  profound  or  more  refined  in  its  ideas.  He  said  a 
thousand  things  like  you ;  I  am  convinced  he  has  loved 
as  you  love.  We  sat  up  till  two  this  morning  talking  of 
Corinne.  ...  I  have  been  obliged  to  sing  ''Deep  in 
Love  "  so  often  for  my  handsome  host,  and  every  time  it 
is  as  for  you  I  sing  if  The  letter  concludes  with  the 
words,  '  Airnons  toujours  comme  a  Vordinaire.''  The  pair 
may  have  loved,  but  they  were  continually  quarrelling, 
and  their  intimacy  was  finally  broken  a  year  or  two 
later.  Lady  Morgan  preserved  to  the  end  of  her  days  a 
packet  of  love-letters  indorsed,  'Sir  Charles  Montague 
Ormsby,  Bart.,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  wits,  deter- 
120 


LADY  MORGAN 

mined    rou^s^   agreeable    persons,   and   ugliest    men   of 
his  day.' 

The  summer  of  this  year,  1808,  Miss  Owenson  spent 
in  a  round  of  visits  to  country-houses,  and  in  working, 
amid  many  distractions,  at  her  Grecian  novel,  Ida  of 
Athens.  After  the  first  volume  had  gone  to  press, 
Phillips  took  fright  at  some  of  the  opinions  therein 
expressed,  and  refused  to  proceed  further  with  the  work. 
It  was  then  accepted  by  Longmans,  who,  however,  were 
somewhat  alarmed  at  what  they  considered  the  Deistical 
principles  and  the  taint  of  French  philosophy  that  ran 
through  the  book.  Ida  is  a  houri  and  a  woman  of  genius, 
who  dresses  in  a  tissue  of  woven  air,  has  a  taste  for 
philosophical  discussions,  and  a  talent  for  getting  into 
perilous  situations,  from  which  her  strong  sense  of  pro- 
priety invariably  delivers  her.  This  book  was  the  subject 
of  adverse  criticism  in  the  first  number  of  the  Quarterly 
Review^  the  critic  being,  it  is  believed,  Miss  Owenson's 
old  enemy,  Croker.  As  a  work  of  art,  the  novel  was 
certainly  a  just  object  of  ridicule,  but  the  personalities 
by  which  the  review  is  disfigured  were  unworthy  of  a 
responsible  critic. 

'  The  language,'  observes  the  reviewer,  *  is  an  inflated 
jargon,  composed  of  terms  picked  up  in  all  countries, 
and  wholly  irreducible  to  any  ordinary  rules  of  grammar 
and  sense.  The  sentiments  are  mischievous  in  tendency, 
profligate  in  principle,  licentious  and  irreverent  in  the 
highest  degree.'  The  first  part  of  this  accusation  was 
only  too  well  founded,  but  the  licentiousness  of  which 
I^y  Morgan's  works  were  invariably  accused  in  the 
Quarterlij  Reiuew^  can  only  have  existed  in  the  mind  of 
the  reviewer.  One  cannot  but  smile  to  think  how  many 
persons  with  a  taste  for  highly-spiced  fiction  must  have 


LADY  MORGAN 

been  set  searching  through  Lady  Morgan's  novels  by 
these  notices,  and  how  bitterly  they  must  have  been  dis- 
appointed. The  review  in  question  concludes  with  the 
remark  that  if  the  author  would  buy  a  spelling-book,  a 
pocket- dictionary,  exchange  her  raptures  for  common 
sense,  and  gather  a  few  precepts  of  humility  from  the 
Bible,  'she  might  hope  to  prove,  not  indeed  a  good 
writer  of  novels,  but  a  useful  friend,  a  faithful  wife,  a 
tender  mother,  and  a  respectable  and  happy  mistress  of 
a  family.'  This  impertinence  is  thoroughly  characteristic 
of  the  days  when  the  Quarterly  was  regarded  as  an 
amusing  but  frivolous,  not  to  say  flippant,  publication. 

Ida  of  Athens  received  the  honour  of  mention  in  a  note 
to  Childe  Harold.  '  I  will  request  Miss  Owenson,'  writes 
Byron,  '  when  she  next  chooses  an  Athenian  heroine  for 
her  four  volumes,  to  have  the  goodness  to  marry  her  to 
somebody  more  of  a  gentleman  than  a  "  Disdar  Aga " 
(who,  by  the  way,  is  not  an  Aga),  the  most  impolite  of 
petty  officers,  the  greatest  patron  of  larceny  Athens  ever 
saw  (except  Lord  E[lgin]),  and  the  unworthy  occupant  of 
the  Acropolis,  on  a  handsome  stipend  of  150  piastres 
(=£^8  sterling),  out  of  which  he  has  to  pay  his  garrison, 
the  most  ill-regulated  corps  in  the  ill-regulated  Ottoman 
Empire.  I  speak  it  tenderly,  seeing  I  was  once  the  cause 
of  the  husband  of  Ida  nearly  suffering  the  bastinado; 
and  because  the  said  Disdar  is  a  turbulent  fellow  who 
beats  his  wife,  so  that  I  exhort  and  beseech  Miss  Owenson 
to  sue  for  a  separate  maintenance  on  behalf  of  Ida.' 

In  1809  Lady  Abercorn,  the  third  wife  of  the  first 
Marquis,  having  taken  a  sudden  fancy  to  Miss  Owenson, 
proposed  that  she  should  come  to  Stanmore  Priory,  and 
afterwards  to  Baron's  Court,  as  a  kind  of  permanent 
visitor.  A  fine  lady  of  the  old-fashioned,  languid,  idle, 
122 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

easily  bored  type,  Lady  Abercom  desired  a  lively, 
amusing  companion,  who  would  deliver  her  from  the 
terrors  of  a  solitude  a  deiix,  make  music  in  the  evenings, 
and  help  to  entertain  her  guests.  It  was  represented  to 
Sydney  that  such  an  invitation  was  not  lightly  to  be 
refused,  but  as  acceptance  involved  an  almost  total 
separation  from  her  friends,  she  hesitated  to  enter  into 
any  actual  engagement,  and  went  to  the  Abercorns  for 
two  or  three  months  as  an  ordinary  visitor.  Lord 
Abercom,  who  was  then  between  fifty  and  sixty,  had 
been  married  three  times,  and  divorced  once.  So  fas- 
tidious a  fine  gentleman  was  he  that  the  maids  were  not 
allowed  to  make  his  bed  except  in  white  kid  gloves, 
and  his  groom  of  his  chambers  had  orders  to  fumigate 
his  rooms  after  liveried  servants  had  been  in  them.  He 
is  described  as  handsome,  witty,  and  blase,  a  rou^  in 
principles  and  a  Tory  in  politics.  Nothing  pleased  Lady 
Morgan  better  in  her  old  age,  we  are  told,  than  to  have 
it  insinuated  that  there  had  been  'something  wrong' 
between  herself  and  Lord  Abercom. 

In  January,  1810,  Sydney  writes  to  Mrs.  Lefanu  from 
Stanmore  Priory  to  the  effect  that  she  is  the  best-lodged, 
best-fed,  dullest  author  in  his  Majesty's  dominions,  and 
that  the  sound  of  a  commoner's  name  is  refreshment  to 
her  ears.  She  is  surrounded  by  ex-lord-lieutenants, 
unpopular  princesses  (including  her  of  Wales)  deposed 
potentates  (including  him  of  Sweden),  half  the  nobility 
of  England,  and  many  of  the  best  wits  and  writers.  She 
had  sat  to  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  for  her  portrait,  and 
sold  her  Indian  novel.  The  Missionary^  for  a  famous 
price.  Lord  Castlereagh,  while  staying  at  Stanmore, 
heard  portions  of  the  work  read  aloud,  and  admired  it 
so  much  that  he  offered  to  take  the  author  to  London, 

123 


LADY  MORGAN 

and  give  her  a  rendezvous  with  her  publisher  in  his  own 
study.  Stockdale,  the  publisher,  was  so  much  impressed 
by  his  surroundings  that  he  bid  ^£'400  for  the  book, 
and  the  agreement  was  signed  and  sealed  under  Lord 
Castlereagh's  eye.  The  Missionary  was  not  so  successful 
as  The  Wild  Irish  Girl,  and  added  nothing  to  the 
author^s  reputation. 

It  was  not  until  the  end  of  1810  that  Miss  Owenson 
decided  to  become  a  permanent  member  of  the  Abercorn 
household.  About  this  time,  or  a  little  later,  she  wrote 
a  short  description  of  her  temperament  and  feelings, 
from  which  a  sentence  or  two  may  be  quoted.  '  Incon- 
siderate and  indiscreet,  never  saved  by  prudence,  but 
often  rescued  by  pride ;  often  on  the  verge  of  error,  but 
never  passing  the  line.  Committing  myself  in  every  way 
except  in  my  own  esteem — without  any  command  over  my 
feelings,  my  words,  or  writings — yet  full  of  self-possession 
as  to  action  and  conduct.'  After  describing  her  sufferings 
from  nervous  susceptibility  and  mental  depression,  she 
continues :  '  But  the  hand  that  writes  this  has  lost 
nothing  of  the  contour  of  health  or  the  symmetry  of 
youth.  I  am  in  possession  of  all  the  fame  I  ever  hoped 
or  ambitioned.  I  wear  not  the  appearance  of  twenty 
years ;  I  am  now,  as  I  generally  am,  sad  and  miserable.' 

In  1811  Dr.  Morgan,  a  good-looking  widower  of  about 
eight-and-twenty,  accepted  the  post  of  private  physician 
to  Lord  Abercorn.  He  was  a  Cambridge  man,  an 
intimate  friend  of  Dr.  Jenner's,  and  possessed  a  small 
fortune  of  his  own.  When  he  first  arrived  at  Baron's 
Court,  Miss  Owenson  was  absent,  and  he  heard  so  much 
of  her  praises  that  he  conceived  a  violent  prejudice 
against  her.  On  her  return  she  set  to  work  systematic- 
ally to  fascinate  him,  and  succeeded  even  better  than  she 
124 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

had  hoped  or  desired.  In  Lady  Abercorn  he  had  a  warm 
partisan,  but  it  may  be  suspected  that  the  ambitious 
Miss  Owenson  found  it  hard  to  renounce  all  hopes  of  a 
more  brilliant  match.  The  Abercorns  having  vowed 
that  Dr.  Morgan  should  be  made  Sir  Charles,  and  that 
they  would  push  his  fortunes,  Sydney  yielded  to  their 
importunities  so  far  as  to  write  to  her  father,  and  ask  his 
consent  to  her  engagement. 

'I  dare  say  you  will  be  amazingly  astonished,**  she 
observes,  '  but  not  half  so  much  as  I  am,  for  Lord  and 
Lady  Abercorn  have  hurried  on  the  business  in  such  a 
manner  that  I  really  don^t  know  what  I  am  about.  They 
called  me  in  last  night,  and,  more  like  parents  than 
friends,  begged  me  to  be  guided  by  them — that  it  was 
their  wish  not  to  lose  sight  of  me  .  .  .  and  that  if  I 
accepted  Morgan,  the  man  upon  earth  they  most 
esteemed  and  approved,  they  would  be  friends  to  both 
for  life — that  we  should  reside  with  them  one  year  after 
our  marriage,  so  that  we  might  lay  up  our  income  to 
begin  the  world.  He  is  also  to  continue  their  physician. 
He  has  now  i?500  a  year,  independent  of  his  practice.  I 
don't  myself  see  the  thing  quite  in  the  light  they  do ; 
but  they  think  him  a  man  of  such  great  abilities,  such 
great  worth  and  honour,  that  I  am  the  most  fortunate 
person  in  the  world.** 

To  her  old  friend,  Mrs.  Lefanu,  she  writes  in  much 
the  same  strain.  *  The  licence  and  ring  have  been  in  the 
house  these  ten  days,  and  all  the  settlements  made ;  yet 
I  have  been  battling  off  from  day  to  day,  and  have  only 
ten  minutes  back  procured  a  little  breathing  time.  The 
struggle  is  almost  too  great  for  me.  On  one  side  engaged, 
beyond  retrieval,  to  a  man  who  has  frequently  declared 
to  my  friends  that  if  I  break  off  he  will  not  survive  it ! 

125 


LADY  MORGAN 

On  the  other,  the  dreadful  certainty  of  being  parted  for 
ever  from  a  country  and  friends  I  love,  and  a  family 
I  adore/ 

The  'breathing  time'  was  to  consist  of  a  fortnight's 
visit  to  her  sister.  Lady  Clarke,  in  Dublin,  in  order  to  be 
near  her  father,  who  was  in  failing  health.  The  fortnight, 
however,  proved  an  exceedingly  elastic  period.  Mr. 
Owenson  was  not  dangerously  ill,  the  winter  season  was 
just  beginning,  and  Miss  Owenson  was  more  popular 
than  ever.  Her  unfortunate  lover,  as  jealous  as  he  was 
enamoured,  being  detained  by  his  duties  at  Baron's  Court, 
could  only  write  long  letters  of  complaint,  reproach,  and 
appeal  to  his  hard-hearted  lady.  Sydney  was  thoroughly 
enjoying  herself,  and  was  determined  to  make  the  most 
of  her  last  days  of  liberty.  She  admitted  afterwards  that 
she  had  behaved  very  badly  at  this  time,  and  deserved  to 
have  lost  the  best  husband  woman  ever  had. 

'I  picture  to  myself,'  writes  poor  Dr.  Morgan,  'the 
thoughtless  and  heartless  Glorvina  trifling  with  her  friend, 
jesting  at  his  sufferings,  and  flirting  with  every  man  she 
meets.'  He  sends  her  some  commissions,  but  declares 
that  there  is  only  one  about  which  he  is  really  anxious, 
'  and  that  is  to  love  me  exclusively ;  to  prefer  me  to  every 
other  good ;  to  think  of  me,  speak  of  me,  write  to  me, 
and  look  forward  to  our  union  as  to  the  completion  of 
every  wish,  as  I  do  by  you.  Do  this,  and  though  you 
grow  as  ugly  as  Sycorax,  you  will  never  lose  in  me  the 
fondest,  most  doating,  affectionate  of  husbands.  Glorvina, 
I  was  born  for  tenderness ;  my  business  in  life  is  to  love. 
...  I  read  part  of  The  Way  to  Keep  Him  this  morning, 
and  I  see  now  you  take  the  widow  for  your  model ;  but 
it  won't  do,  for  though  I  love  you  in  every  mood,  it  is 
only  when  you  are  true  to  nature,  passionate  and  tender, 
126 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

that  I  adore  you.     You  are  never  less  interesting  to  me 
than  when  you  brillez  in  a  large  party/ 

The  fortnight'*s  leave  of  absence  had  been  granted  in 
September,  and  by  the  end  of  November  Dr.  Morgan  is 
thoroughly  displeased  with  his  truant  fiancee,  and  asks 
why  she  could  not  have  told  him  when  she  went  away, 
that  she  intended  to  stay  till  Christmas.  *  I  know,"  he 
writes,  '  this  is  but  a  specimen  of  the  roundabout  policy 
of  all  your  countrywomen.  How  strange  it  is  that  you, 
who  are  in  general  great  beyond  every  woman  I  know, 
philosophical  and  magnanimous,  should  in  detail  be  so 
often  ill-judging,  wrong,  and  (shall  I  say)  little?''  In 
December  Sydney  writes  to  say  that  she  will  return 
directly  after  Christmas,  and  declares  that  the  terrible 
struggle  of  feeling,  which  she  had  tried  to  forget  in  every 
species  of  mental  dissipation,  is  now  over;  friends,  relatives, 
country,  all  are  resigned,  and  she  is  his  for  ever  !  A  little 
later  she  shows  signs  of  wavering  again  ;  she  cannot  make 
up  her  mind  to  part  from  her  invalid  father  just  yet ;  but 
this  time  Dr.  Morgan  puts  his  foot  down,  and  issues  his 
ultimatum  in  a  stern  and  manly  letter.  He  will  be 
trifled  with  no  longer.  Sydney  must  either  keep  her 
promise  and  return  at  Christmas,  or  they  had  better  part, 
never  to  meet  again.  '  The  love  I  require,*"  he  writes,  *  is 
no  ordinary  affection.  The  woman  who  marries  me  must 
be  identified  with  me.  I  must  have  a  large  bank  of  tender- 
ness to  draw  upon.  I  must  have  frequent  profession  and 
frequent  demonstration  of  it.  Woman's  love  is  all  in 
all  to  me;  it  stands  in  place  of  honours  and  riches, 
and  what  is  yet  more,  in  place  of  tranquillity  of  mind.** 

This  letter,  backed  by  one  from  Lady  Abercorn,  brought 
Sydney  to  her  senses.  In  the  first  days  of  the  new  year 
(1812)  she  arrived  at  Baron's  Court,  a  little  shamefaced, 

127 


LADY  MORGAN 

and  more  than  a  little  doubtful  of  her  reception.  The 
marquis  was  stiff,  and  the  marchioness  stately,  but  Sir 
Charles,  who  had  just  been  knighted  by  the  Lord- 
Lieutenant,  was  too  pleased  to  get  his  lady-love  back,  to 
harbour  any  resentment  against  her.  A  few  days  after 
her  return,  as  she  was  sitting  over  the  fire  in  a  morning 
wrapper.  Lady  Abercorn  came  in  and  said : 

'Glorvina,  come  upstairs  directly  and  be  married; 
there  must  be  no  more  trifling.' 

The  bride  was  led  into  her  ladyship^s  dressing-room, 
where  the  bridegroom  was  awaiting  her  in  company  with 
the  chaplain,  and  the  ceremony  took  place.  The  marriage 
was  kept  a  secret  from  the  other  guests  at  the  time,  but 
a  few  nights  later  Lord  Abercorn  filled  his  glass  after 
dinner,  and  drank  to  the  health  of  '  Sir  Charles  and 
Lady  Morgan.' 


PART   II 

The  marriage,  unpromising  as  it  appeared  at  the  outset, 
proved  an  exceptionally  happy  one.  Sir  Charles  was  a 
straightforward,  worthy,  if  somewhat  dull  gentleman, 
with  no  ambition,  a  nervous  distaste  for  society,  and  a 
natural  indolence  of  temperament.  To  his  wife  he  gave 
the  unstinted  sympathy  and  admiration  that  her  restless 
vanity  craved,  while  she  invariably  maintained  that  he 
was  the  wisest,  brightest,  and  handsomest  of  his  sex. 
She  seems  to  have  given  him  no  occasion  for  jealousy 
after  marriage,  though  to  the  last  she  preserved  her 
passion  for  society,  and  her  ambition  for  social  recog- 
128 


LADY  MORGAN 

nition  and  success.  The  first  year  of  married  life,  which 
she  described  as  a  period  of  storm,  interspersed  with 
brilliant  sunshine,  was  spent  with  the  Abercoms  at 
Baron's  Court. 

'Though  living  in  a  palace,'  wrote  Sydney  to  Mrs. 
Lefanu,  early  in  1812,  'we  have  all  the  comfort  and 
independence  of  a  home.  ...  As  to  me,  I  am  every 
inch  a  wife,  and  so  ends  that  brilliant  thing  that  was 
Glorvina.  N.B. — I  intend  to  write  a  book  to  explode 
the  vulgar  idea  of  matrimony  being  the  tomb  of  love. 
Matrimony  is  the  real  thing,  and  all  before  but  leather 
and  prunella.'  In  a  letter  to  Lady  Stanley  she  paints 
Sir  Charles  in  the  romantic  colours  appropriate  to  a 
novelist's  husband.  '  In  love  he  is  Sheridan's  Falkland, 
and  in  his  view  of  things  there  is  a  melange  of  cynicism 
and  sentiment  that  will  never  suffer  him  to  be  as  happy 
as  the  inferior  million  that  move  about  him.  Marriage 
has  taken  nothing  from  the  romance  of  his  passion  for 
me ;  and  by  bringing  a  sense  of  property  with  it,  has 
rendered  him  more  exigent  and  nervous  about  me  than 
before.' 

The  luxury  of  Baron's  Court  was  probably  more  than 
counterbalanced  by  the  inevitable  drawbacks  of  married 
life  in  a  patron's  household,  where  the  husband,  at  least, 
was  at  that  patron's  beck  and  call.  Before  the  end  of  the 
year,  the  Morgans  were  contemplating  a  modest  establish- 
ment of  their  own,  and  Sydney  had  set  to  work  upon  a 
novel,  the  price  of  which  was  to  furnish  the  new  house. 
Mr.  Owenson  had  died  shortly  after  his  daughter's 
marriage,  and  Lady  Morgan  persuaded  her  husband  to 
settle  in  Dublin,  in  order  that  she  might  be  near  her 
sister  and  her  many  friends.  A  house  was  presently 
taken  in  Kildare  Street,  and  Sir  Charles,  who  had  obtained 
I  129 


LADY  MORGAN 

the  post  of  physician  to  the  Marshalsea,  set  himself  to 
establish  a  practice.  Lady  Morgan  prided  herself  upon 
her  housewifely  talents,  and  in  a  letter  dated  May,  1813, 
she  describes  how  she  has  made  their  old  house  clean  and 
comfortable,  all  that  their  means  would  permit,  '  except 
for  one  little  bit  of  a  room,  four  inches  by  three,  which 
is  fitted  up  in  the  Gothic,  and  I  have  collected  into  it  the 
best  part  of  a  very  good  cabinet  of  natural  history  of 
Sir  Charles's,  eight  or  nine  hundred  volumes  of  choice 
books  in  French,  English,  Italian,  and  German,  some 
little  curiosities,  and  a  few  scraps  of  old  china,  so  that, 
with  muslin  draperies,  etc.,  I  have  made  no  contemptible 
set-out.  .  .  .  With  respect  to  authorship,  I  fear  it  is 
over ;  I  have  been  making  chair-covers  instead  of  systems, 
and  cheapening  pots  and  pans  instead  of  selling  sentiment 
and  philosophy.' 

In  the  midst  of  all  her  domestic  labours,  however. 
Lady  Morgan  contrived  to  finish  a  novel,  O'Donnel, 
which  Colburn  published  in  1814,  and  for  which  she 
received  £550.  The  book  was  ill-reviewed,  but  it  was 
an  even  greater  popular  success  than  The  Wild  Irish 
Girl.  The  heroine,  like  most  of  Lady  Morgan's  heroines, 
is  evidently  meant  for  an  idealised  portrait  of  herself, 
and  the  great  ladies  by  whom  she  is  surrounded  are 
sketched  from  Lady  Abercorn  and  certain  of  the  guests 
at  Baron's  Court.  The  Liberal,  or  as  they  would  now 
be  called.  Radical  principles  inculcated  in  the  book 
gave  bitter  offence  to  the  author's  old-fashioned  friends, 
and  increased  the  rancour  of  her  Tory  reviewers.  But 
O'Donnel  found  numerous  admirers,  among  them  no  less 
a  person  than  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  notes  in  his  diary 
for  March  14, 1826  :  '  I  have  amused  myself  occasionally 
very  pleasantly  during  the  last  few  days  by  reading  over 
130 


LADY  MORGAN 

Lady  Morgan"'s  novel  of  O'Donnel,  which  has  some  striking 
and  beautiful  passages  of  situation  and  description,  and 
in  the  comic  part  is  very  rich  and  entertaining.  I  do  not 
remember  being  so  pleased  with  it  at  first.  There  is  a 
want  of  story,  always  fatal  to  a  book  on  the  first  reading 
— and  it  is  well  if  it  gets  the  chance  of  a  second.' 

The  following  year,  1815,  France  being  once  again 
open  to  English  travellers,  the  Morgans  paid  a  visit  to 
Paris,  Lady  Morgan  having  undertaken  to  write  a  book 
about  what  was  then  a  strange  people  and  a  strange 
country.  The  pair  went  a  good  deal  into  society,  and 
made  many  friends,  among  them  Lafayette,  Cuvier,  the 
Comte  de  Segur,  Madame  de  Genlis,  and  Madame 
Jerome  Bonaparte.  Sydney,  whose  Celtic  manners  were 
probably  more  congenial  to  the  French  than  Anglo-Saxon 
reserve,  seems  to  have  received  a  great  deal  of  attention, 
and  her  not  over-strong  head  was  slightly  turned  in  con- 
sequence. 

'  The  French  admire  you  more  than  any  Englishwoman 
who  has  appeared  here  since  the  Battle  of  Waterloo,"' 
wrote  Madame  Jerome  Bonaparte  to  Lady  Morgan, 
after  the  latter  had  returned  to  Ireland.  '  France  is  the 
country  you  should  reside  in,  because  you  are  so  much 
admired,  and  here  no  Englishwoman  has  received  the 
same  attentions  since  you.  I  am  dying  to  see  your  last 
publication.  Public  expectation  is  as  high  as  possible. 
How  happy  you  must  be  at  filling  the  world  with  your 
name  as  you  do!  Madame  de  Stael  and  Madame  de 
Genlis  are  forgotten ;  and  if  the  love  of  fame  be  of  any 
weight  with  you,  your  excursion  to  Paris  was  attended 
with  brilliant  success.' 

Madame  de  Genlis,  in  her  Memoirs^  gives  a  more 
soberly- worded  account  of  the  impression  produced  by 

181 


LADY  MORGAN 

Lady  Morgan  on  Parisian  society.  The  author  of  France 
is  described  as  '  not  beautiful,  but  with  something  lively 
and  agreeable  in  her  whole  person.  She  is  very  clever, 
and  seems  to  have  a  good  heart;  it  is  a  pity  that  for 
the  sake  of  popularity  she  should  have  the  mania  of 
meddling  in  politics.  .  .  .  Her  vivacity  and  rather  spring- 
ing carriage  seemed  very  strange  in  Parisian  circles.  She 
soon  learned  that  good  taste  of  itself  condemned  that 
kind  of  demeanour;  in  fact,  gesticulation  and  noisy 
manners  have  never  been  popular  in  France."  The  spoilt 
little  lady  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with  this  portrait, 
and  Sir  Charles,  who  was  away  from  home  at  the  time 
the  Memoirs  appeared,  writes  to  console  her.  '  You 
must  not  mind  that  lying  old  witch  Madame  de  Genlis" 
attack  upon  you,"*  says  the  admiring  husband.  '  I  thought 
she  would  not  let  you  off  easily ;  you  were  not  only  a 
better  and  younger  (and  /  may  say  prettier)  author  than 
herself,  but  also  a  more  popular  one.' 

Over  the  price  to  be  paid  for  France,  to  which  Sir 
Charles  contributed  some  rather  heavy  chapters  on 
medical  science,  political  economy,  and  jurisprudence, 
there  was  the  usual  battle  between  the  keen  little  woman 
and  her  publisher.  Colburn,  having  done  well  with 
G'Donnel,  felt  justified  in  offering  d(?750  for  the  new  work, 
but  Lady  Morgan  demanded  d^lOOO,  and  got  it.  The 
sum  must  have  been  a  substantial  compensation  for  the 
wounds  that  her  vanity  received  at  the  hands  of  the 
reviewers.  France,  which  made  its  appearance  in  1817, 
in  two  volumes  quarto,  was  eagerly  read  and  loudly 
abused.  Croker,  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  attacked  the 
book,  or  rather  the  author,  in  an  article  which  has  become 
almost  historic  for  its  virulence.  Poor  Lady  Morgan  was 
accused  of  bad  taste,  bombast  and  nonsense,  blunders, 
132 


LADY  MORGAN 

ignorance  of  the  French  language  and  manners,  general 
ignorance,  Jacobinism,  falsehood,  licentiousness,  and  im- 
piety !  The  first  four  or  five  charges  might  have  been 
proved  with  little  difficulty,  if  it  were  worth  while  to 
break  a  butterfly  on  a  wheel,  but  it  was  necessary  to 
distort  the  meaning  and  even  the  text  of  the  original  in 
order  to  give  any  colour  to  the  graver  accusations. 

Croker  had  discovered,  much  to  his  delight,  that  the 
translator  of  the  work  (which  was  also  published  in  Paris) 
had  subjoined  a  note  to  some  of  Lady  Morgan''s  scraps  of 
French,  in  which  he  confessed  that  though  the  words 
were  printed  to  look  like  French,  he  could  not  understand 
them.  The  critic  observes,  a  propos  of  this  fact,  *  It  is, 
we  believe,  peculiar  to  Lady  Morgan's  works,  that  her 
English  readers  require  an  English  translation  of  her 
English,  and  her  French  readers  a  PVench  translation  of 
her  French.'  This  was  a  fair  hit,  as  also  was  the  ridicule 
thrown  upon  such  sentences  as  *  Cider  is  not  held  in  any 
estimation  by  the  vtritahles  AmpMtryons  of  rural  savoir 
faired  Croker  professes  to  be  shocked  at  Lady  Morgan's 
mention  of  Les  Liaisons  D anger etisen^  having  hitherto 
cherished  the  hope  that '  no  British  female  had  ever  seen 
this  detestable  book';  while  his  outburst  of  virtuous 
indignation  at  her  mention  of  the  *  superior  effusions '  of 
Parny,  which  some  Frenchman  had  recommended  to  her, 
is  really  superb.  *  Parny,'  he  exclaims,  'is  the  most 
beastly,  the  most  detestably  wicked  and  blasphemous  of 
all  the  writers  who  have  ever  disgraced  literature.  I^s 
GuetTCS  (les  Dtciur  is  the  most  dreadful  tissue  of  obscenity 
and  depravity  that  the  devil  ever  inspired  to  the  depraved 
heart  of  man,  and  we  tremble  with  horror  at  the  guilt  of 
having  read  unwittingly  even  so  much  of  the  work  as 
enables  us  to  pronounce  this  character  of  it.' 

183 


LAt)Y  MORGAN 

Croker  concludes  with  the  hope  that  he  has  given  such 
an  idea  of  this  book  as  might  prevent,  in  some  degree, 
the  circulation  of  trash  which,  under  the  name  of  a 
'  Lady  author,"*  might  otherwise  have  found  its  way  into 
the  hands  of  young  persons  of  both  sexes,  for  whose 
perusal  it  was,  on  the  score  both  of  morals  and  politics, 
utterly  unfit.  Such  a  notice  naturally  defeated  its  own 
object,  and  France  went  triumphantly  through  several 
editions.  The  review  attracted  almost  as  much  attention 
as  the  book,  and  many  protests  were  raised  against  it. 
'  What  cruel  work  you  make  with  Lady  Morgan,'  wrote 
Byron  to  Murray.  '  You  should  recollect  that  she  is  a 
woman ;  though,  to  be  sure,  they  are  now  and  then  very 
provoking,  still  as  authoresses  they  can  do  no  great  harm ; 
and  I  think  it  a  pity  so  much  good  invective  should  have 
been  laid  out  upon  her,  when  there  is  such  a  fine  field  of 
us  Jacobin  gentlemen  for  you  to  work  upon.'  The  Regent 
himself,  according  to  Lady  Charleville's  report,  had  said 

of    Croker :    '  D d   blackguard   to   abuse   a  woman  ; 

couldn't  he  let  her  France  alone,  if  it  be  all  lies,  and 
read  her  novels,  and  thank  her,  by  Jasus,  for  being  a 
good  Irishwoman  ? ' 

Lady  Morgan,  as  presently  appeared,  was  not  only 
quite  able  to  defend  herself,  but  to  give  as  good  as  she 
got.  Peel,  in  a  letter  to  Croker,  says :  '  Lady  Morgan 
vows  vengeance  against  you  as  the  supposed  author  of  the 
article  in  the  Quarterly,  in  which  her  atheism,  profanity, 
indecency,  and  ignorance  are  exposed.  You  are  to  be 
the  hero  of  some  novel  of  which  she  is  about  to  be 
delivered.  I  hope  she  has  not  heard  of  your  predilection 
for  angling,  and  that  she  will  not  describe  you  as  she 
describes  one  of  her  heroes,  as  "  seated  in  his  piscatory 
corner,  intent  on  the  destruction  of  the  finny  tribe."' 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

*  Lady  Morgan,'  it  seems,  replies  Croker,  *  is  resolved  to 
make  me  read  one  of  her  novels.  I  hope  I  shall  feel 
interested  enough  to  learn  the  language.  I  wrote  the 
first  part  of  the  article  in  question,  but  was  called  away 
to  Ireland  when  it  was  in  the  press ;  and  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  some  blunders  crept  in  accidentally,  and  one  or 
two  were  premeditatedly  added,  which,  however,  I  do  not 
think  Lady  Morgan  knows  enough  of  either  English, 
French,  or  Latin  to  find  out.  If  she  goes  on,  we  shall 
have  sport.  ** 

Early  in  1818  Colburn  wrote  to  suggest  that  the 
Morgans  should  proceed  to  Italy  with  a  view  to  col- 
laborating in  a  book  on  that  country,  and  offered  them 
the  handsome  sum  of  c^'gOOO  for  the  copyright.  By 
this  time  Sir  Charles  had  lost  most  of  his  practice, 
owing  to  his  publication  of  a  scientific  work,  The  Otd- 
lines  of  the  Physiology  of  Life,  which  was  considered 
objectionably  heterodox  by  the  Dublin  public.  There 
was  no  obstacle,  therefore,  to  his  leaving  home  for  a 
lengthened  period,  and  joining  his  wife  in  her  literary 
labours.  In  May,  the  pair  journeyed  to  London  en 
route  for  the  South,  Lady  Morgan  taking  with  her  the 
nearly  finished  manuscript  of  a  new  novel,  Florence 
Macarthy,  With  his  first  reading  of  this  book  Colbum 
was  so  charmed,  that  he  presented  the  author  with  a  fine 
parure  of  amethysts  as  a  tribute  of  admiration. 

According  to  the  testimony  of  impartial  witnesses. 
Lady  Morgan  made  as  decided  a  social  success  in  Italy  as 
she  had  done  a  couple  of  years  earlier  in  France.  Moore, 
who  met  the  couple  in  Florence,  notes  in  his  diary  for 
October  1819:  *Went  to  see  Sir  Charles  and  Lady 
Morgan ;  her  success  everywhere  astonishing.  Camac 
was  last  night  at  the  Countess  of  Albany's  (the  Pre- 

185 


LADY  MORGAN 

tender's  wife  and  Alfieri's),  and  saw  Lady  Morgan  there 
in  the  seat  of  honour,  quite  the  queen  of  the  room.'  In 
Rome  the  same  appreciation  awaited  her.  '  The  Duchess 
of  Devonshire,'  writes  her  ladyship,  '  is  unceasing  in  her 
attentions.  Cardinal  Fesche  (Bonaparte's  uncle)  is  quite 
my  beau.  .  .  .  Madame  Mere  (Napoleon's  mother)  sent 
to  say  she  would  be  glad  to  see  me;  we  were  received 
quite  in  an  imperial  style.  I  never  saw  so  fine  an  old 
lady — still  quite  handsome.  The  pictures  of  her  sons 
hung  round  the  room,  all  in  royal  robes,  and  her 
daughters  and  grandchildren,  and  at  the  head  of  them 
all,  old  Mr.  Bonaparte.  She  is  full  of  sense,  feeling,  and 
spirit,  and  not  the  least  what  I  expected — vulgar.' 

Florence  Ma^arthy  was  published  during  its  author's 
absence  abroad.  The  heroine.  Lady  Clancare,  a  novelist 
and  politician,  a  beauty  and  a  wit,  is  obviously  intended 
for  Lady  Morgan  herself,  while  Lady  Abercorn  figures 
again  under  the  title  of  Lady  Dunore.  But  the  most 
striking  of  all  the  character-portraits  is  Counsellor  Con 
Crawley,  who  was  sketched  from  Lady  Morgan's  old 
enemy,  John  Wilson  Croker.  According  to  Moore,  Croker 
winced  more  under  this  caricature  than  under  any  of  the 
direct  attacks  which  were  made  upon  him.  Con  Crawley, 
we  are  told,  was  of  a  bilious,  saturnine  constitution, 
even  his  talent  being  but  the  result  of  disease.  These 
physical  disadvantages,  combined  with  an  education 
'whose  object  was  pretension,  and  whose  principle  was 
arrogance,  made  him  at  once  a  thing  fearful  and  pitiable, 
at  war  with  its  species  and  itself,  ready  to  crush  in  man- 
hood as  to  sting  in  the  cradle,  and  leading  his  overween- 
ing ambition  to  pursue  its  object  by  ways  dark  and 
hidden — safe  from  the  penalty  of  crime,  and  exposed  only 
to  the  obloquy  which  he  laughed  to  scorn.  If  ever  there 
136 


LADY  MORGAN 

was  a  man  formed  alike  by  nature  and  education  to 
betray  the  land  which  gave  him  birth,  and  to  act  openly 
as  the  pander  of  political  corruption,  or  secretly  as  the 
agent  of  defamation ;  who  would  stoop  to  seek  his  fortune 
by  effecting  the  fall  of  a  frail  woman,  or  would  strive  to 
advance  it  by  stabbing  the  character  of  an  honest  one ; 
who  could  crush  aspiring  merit  behind  the  ambuscade  of 
anonymous  security,  while  he  came  forward  openly  in 
defence  of  thevileness  which  rank  sanctified  and  influence 
protected — that  man  was  Conway  Crawley.' 

The  truth  of  the  portraiture  of  the  whole  Crawley 
family— exaggerated  as  it  may  seem  in  modem  eyes — 
was  at  once  recognised  by  Lady  Morgan's  countrymen. 
Sir  Jonah  Barrington,  an  undisputed  authority  on  Irish 
manners  and  character,  writes  :  '  The  Crawleys  are  super- 
lative, and  suffice  to  bring  before  my  vision,  in  their  full 
colouring,  and  almost  without  a  variation,  persons  and 
incidents  whom  and  which  I  have  many  a  time  encoun- 
tered.' Again,  Owen  Maddyn,  who  was  by  no  means 
prejudiced  in  Lady  Morgan's  favour,  admits  that  her 
attack  on  Croker  had  much  effect  in  its  day,  and  was 
written  on  the  model  of  the  Irish  school  of  invective 
furnished  by  Flood  and  Grattan.  As  a  novelist,  he  held 
that  she  pointed  the  way  to  Lever,  and  adds :  *  The 
rattling  vivacity  of  the  Irish  character,  its  ebullient 
spirit,  and  its  wrathful  eloquence  of  sentiment  and 
language,  she  well  portrayed ;  one  can  smell  the  potheen 
and  turf  smoke  even  in  her  pictures  of  a  boudoir/  In 
this  sentence  are  summed  up  the  leading  characteristics, 
not  only  of  Florence  Macarthy^  but  of  all  Lady  Morgan's 
national  romances. 

Italy  was  published  simultaneously  in  London  and 
Paris  in  June,  1 821,  and  produced  an  even  greater  sensa- 

187 


LADY  MORGAN 

tion  than  the  work  on  France,  though  Croker  declared 
that  it  fell  dead  from  the  press,  and  devoted  the  greater 
part  of  his  'review'  in  the  Quarterly  to  an  analysis 
of  Colburn's  methods  of  advertisement.  Criticism  of  a 
penal  kind,  he  explained,  was  not  called  for,  because, 
'  in  the  first  place,  we  are  convinced  that  this  woman  is 
wholly  incorrigible-^  secondly,  we  hope  that  her  indelicacy, 
vanity,  and  malignity  are  inimitable,  and  that,  therefore, 
her  example  is  very  little  dangerous ;  and  thirdly,  though 
every  page  teems  with  errors  of  all  kinds,  from  the  most 
disgusting  to  the  most  ludicrous,  they  are  smothered  in 
such  Boeotian  dulness  that  they  can  do  no  harm.'  In 
curious  contrast  to  this  professional  criticism  is  a  passage 
in  one  of  Byron's  letters  to  Moore.  'Lady  Morgan,' 
writes  the  poet,  '  in  a  really  excellent  book,  I  assure  you, 
on  Italy,  calls  Venice  an  ocean  Rome ;  I  have  the  very 
same  expression  in  Foscari,  and  yet  you  know  that  the 
play  was  written  months  ago,  and  sent  to  England ;  the 
Italy  I  received  only  on  the  16th.  .  .  .  When  you  write 
to  Lady  Morgan,  will  you  thank  her  for  her  handsome 
speeches  in  her  book  about  my  books  ?  Her  work  is  fear- 
less and  excellent  on  the  subject  of  Italy — pray  tell  her 
so — and  I  know  the  country.  I  wish  she  had  fallen  in 
with  7ne ;  I  could  have  told  her  a  thing  or  two  that  would 
have  confirmed  her  positions.' 

Almost  simultaneously  with  the  appearance  of  Italy, 
Colburn  printed  in  his  New  Monthly  Magazine  a  long, 
vehement,  and  rather  incoherent  attack  by  Lady  Morgan 
upon  her  critics.  The  editor,  Thomas  Campbell,  ex- 
plained in  an  indignant  letter  to  the  Times,  that  the 
article  had  been  inserted  by  the  proprietor  without  being 
first  submitted  to  the  editorial  eye,  and  that  he  was  in 
no  way  responsible  for  its  contents.  Colburn  also  wrote 
138 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

to  the  Times  to  refute  the  Quarterly  reviewer's  state- 
ments regarding  the  sales  of  Italy,  and  publicly  to 
declare  his  entire  satisfaction  at  the  result  of  the  under- 
taking, and  his  willingness  to  receive  from  the  author 
another  work  of  equal  interest  on  the  same  terms.  In 
short,  never  was  a  book  worse  reviewed  or  better  adver- 
tised. 

The  next  venture  of  the  indefatigable  Lady  Morgan, 
who  felt  herself  capable  of  dealing  with  any  subject,  no 
matter  how  little  she  might  know  of  it,  was  a  Life  of 
Salvator  Rosa.  This,  which  was  her  own  favourite 
among  all  her  books,  is  a  rather  imaginative  work, 
which  hardly  comes  up  to  modem  biographical  stan- 
dards. The  author  seems  to  have  been  influenced  in 
her  choice  of  a  subject  rather  by  the  patriotic  character 
of  Salvator  Rosa  than  by  his  artistic  attainments.  Lady 
Morgan  was  once  asked  by  a  fellow-writer  where  she  got 
her  facts,  to  which  she  replied,  '  We  all  imagine  our  facts, 
you  know — and  then  happily  forget  them  ;  it  is  to  be 
hoped  our  readers  do  the  same.'  Nevertheless,  she  seems 
to  have  taken  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  *  get  up '  the 
material  for  her  biography ;  it  was  in  her  treatment  of 
it  that  she  sometimes  allowed  her  ardent  Celtic  imagina- 
tion to  run  away  with  her.  About  this  time  Colburn 
proposed  that  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Morgan  should 
contribute  to  his  magazine,  The  New  Monthly,  and 
offered  them  half  as  much  again  as  his  other  writers,  who 
were  paid  at  the  rate  of  sixteen  guineas  a  sheet.  For 
this  periodical  Lady  Morgan  wrote  a  long  essay  on 
Absenteeism  and  other  articles,  some  of  which  were 
afterwards  republished. 

In  the  spring  of  1824  the  Morgans  came  to  London 
for  the  season,  and  went  much  into  the  literary  society 

189 


LADY  MORGAN 

that  was  dear  to  both  their  hearts.  Lady  Caroline 
Lamb  took  a  violent  fancy  to  Lady  Morgan,  to  whom 
she  confided  her  Byronic  love-troubles,  while  Lady  Cork, 
who  still  maintained  a  salon,  did  not  neglect  her  old 
protegee.  The  rough  notes  kept  by  Lady  Morgan  of 
her  social  adventures  are  not  usually  of  much  interest 
or  importance,  as  she  had  little  faculty  or  inclination 
for  Bos wel Using,  but  the  following  entry  is  worth 
quoting : — 

'Lady  Cork  said  to  me  this  morning  when  I  called 

Miss  a  nice  person,  "Don't  say  nice,  child,  'tis  a 

bad  word.""  Once  I  said  to  Dr.  Johnson,  "  Sir,  that  is  a 
very  nice  person."  ''  A  nice  person,'''  he  replied ;  "  what 
does  that  mean  ?  Elegant  is  now  the  fashionable  term, 
but  it  will  go  out,  and  I  see  this  stupid  nice  is  to  succeed 
to  it.  What  does  nice  mean  ?  Look  in  my  Dictionary  ; 
you  will  see  it  means  correct,  precise." ' 

At  Lydia  White's  famous  soirees  Lady  Morgan  met 
Sydney  Smith,  Washington  Irving,  Hallam,  Miss  Jane 
Porter,  Anacreon  Moore,  and  many  other  literary 
celebrities.  Her  own  rooms  were  thronged  with  a  band 
of  young  Italian  revolutionaries,  whose  country  had 
grown  too  hot  to  hold  them,  and  who  talked  of  erecting 
a  statue  to  the  liberty-loving  Irishwoman  when  Italy 
should  be  free.  Dublin  naturally  seemed  rather  dull 
after  all  the  excitement  and  delights  of  a  London  season, 
but  Lady  Morgan,  though  she  loved  to  grumble  at  her 
native  city,  had  not  yet  thought  of  turning  absentee 
herself.  Her  popularity  with  her  countrymen  (those 
of  her  own  way  of  thinking)  had  suffered  no  diminution, 
and  her  national  celebrity  was  proved  by  the  following 
verse  from  a  ballad  which  was  sung  in  the  Dublin 
streets : — 
140 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

'  Och,  Dublin's  city,  there  's  no  doubtin*, 

Bates  every  city  on  the  say  ; 
'Tis  there  you  '11  hear  O'Connell  spoutin'^ 

And  Lady  Morgan  making  tay  ; 
For  'tis  the  capital  of  the  finest  nation, 

VVid  charmin'  peasantry  on  a  fruitful  sod, 
Fightin'  like  divils  for  conciliation. 

An'  hatin*  each  other  for  the  love  of  God.' 

Our  heroine  was  hard  at  work  at  this  time  upon  the 
last  of  her  Irish  novels,  Tlie  O'Briens  and  the  O' Flaherties^ 
which  was  published  early  in  1827,  and  for  the  copyright 
of  which  Colburn  paid  her  i?1350.  It  was  the  most 
popular  of  all  her  works,  especially  with  her  o^vn  country- 
folk, and  is  distinguished  by  her  favourite  blend  of 
politics,  melodrama,  local  colour,  and  rough  satire  on 
the  ruling  classes.  The  reviews  as  usual  accused  her 
of  blasphemy  and  indecency,  and  so  severe  was  the 
criticism  in  the  Literary  Gazette^  then  edited  by  Jerdan, 
that  Colburn  was  stirred  up  to  found  a  new  literary 
weekly  of  his  own,  and,  in  conjunction  with  James  Silk 
Buckingham,  started  the  Athenwum.  Jerdan  had  asserted 
in  the  course  of  his  review  that  '  In  all  our  reading  we 
never  met  with  a  description  which  tended  so  thoroughly 
to  lower  the  female  character.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Behn  and  Mrs. 
Centlivre  might  be  more  unguarded ;  but  the  gauze  veil 
cannot  hide  the  deformities,  and  LAdy  Morgan's  taste 
has  not  been  of  efficient  power  to  filter  into  cleanliness 
the  original  pollution  of  her  infected  fountain.'  Lady 
Morgan  observes  in  her  diary  that  she  has  a  right  to  be 
judged  by  her  peers,  and  threatens  to  summon  a  jury  of 
matrons  to  say  if  they  can  detect  one  line  in  her  pages 
that  would  tend  to  make  any  honest  man  her  foe. 

There  were  other  disadvantages  attendant  upon  celebrity 

141 


LADY  MORGAN 

than  those  caused  by  inimical  reviewers.  No  foreigner 
of  distinction  thought  a  visit  to  Dublin  complete  with- 
out an  introduction  to  our  author,  who  figures  in  several 
contemporary  memoirs,  not  always  in  a  flattering  light. 
That  curious  personage,  Prince  Puckler  Muskau,  was 
travelling  through  England  and  Ireland  in  1828,  and 
has  left  a  little  vignette  of  Lady  Morgan  in  the  pub- 
lished record  of  his  journey.  *I  was  very  eager,'  he 
explains,  '  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  lady  whom 
I  rate  so  highly  as  an  authoress.  I  found  her,  however, 
very  different  from  what  I  had  pictured  to  myself.  She 
is  a  little,  frivolous,  lively  woman,  apparently  between 
thirty  and  forty,  neither  pretty  nor  ugly,  but  by  no 
means  inclined  to  resign  all  claims  to  the  former,  and 
with  really  fine  expressive  eyes.  She  has  no  idea  of 
mauvaise  honte  or  embarrassment;  her  manners  are  not 
the  most  refined,  and  affect  the  aisance  and  levity  of  the 
fashionable  world,  which,  however,  do  not  sit  calmly  or 
naturally  upon  her.  She  has  the  English  weakness  of 
talking  incessantly  of  fashionable  acquaintances,  and  try- 
ing to  pose  for  very  recherche^  to  a  degree  quite  unworthy 
of  a  woman  of  such  distinguished  talents ;  she  is  not  at 
all  aware  how  she  thus  underrates  herself.'  The  Quarterly 
Review  seized  upon  this  passage  with  malicious  delight. 
The  prince,  as  the  reviewer  points  out,  had  dropped  one 
lump  of  sugar  into  his  bowl  of  gall ;  he  had  guessed  Lady 
Morgan's  age  at  between  thirty  and  forty.  'Miss  Owen- 
son,'  comments  the  writer,  who  was  probably  Croker, 
'  was  an  established  authoress  six-and-twenty  years  ago ; 
and  if  any  lady,  player's  daughter  or  not,  knew  what  she 
knew  when  she  published  her  first  work  at  eight  or  nine 
years  of  age  (which  Miss  Owenson  must  have  been  at 
that  time  according  to  the  prince's  calculation),  she  was 
142 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

undoubtedly  such  a  juvenile  prodigy  as  would  be  quite 
worthy  to  make  a  case  for  the  GentlemavLS  Magazine.'' 

Another  observer,  who  was  present  at  some  of  the 
Castle  festivities,  and  who  had  long  pictured  Lady 
Morgan  in  imagination  as  a  sylphlike  and  romantic 
person,  has  left  on  record  his  amazement  when  the 
celebrated  lady  stood  before  him.  '  She  certainly  formed 
a  strange  figure  in  the  midst  of  that  dazzling  scene  of 
beauty  and  splendour.  Every  female  present  wore  feathers 
and  trains ;  but  Lady  Morgan  scorned  both  appendages. 
Hardly  more  than  four  feet  high,  with  a  spine  not 
quite  straight,  slightly  uneven  shoulders  and  eyes,  Lady 
Morgan  glided  about  in  a  close-cropped  wig,  bound  with 
a  fillet  of  gold,  her  large  face  all  animation,  and  with  a 
witty  word  for  everybody.  I  afterwards  saw  her  at  the 
theatre,  where  she  was  cheered  enthusiastically.  Her 
dress  was  different  from  the  former  occasion,  but  not  less 
original.  A  red  Celtic  cloak,  fastened  by  a  rich  gold 
fibula,  or  Irish  Tara  brooch,  imparted  to  her  little  lady- 
ship a  gorgeous  and  withal  a  picturesque  appearance, 
which  antecedent  associations  considerably  strengthened.' 

In  1829  The  Book  of  the  Boudoir  was  published,  with 
a  preface  in  which  Lady  Morgan  gives  the  following 
naive  account  of  its  genesis:  'I  was  just  setting  off  to 
Ireland  —  the  horses  literally  putting- to  —  when  Mr. 
Colbum  arrived  with  his  flattering  proposition  [for  a 
new  book].  Taking  up  a  scrubby  manuscript  volume 
which  the  servant  was  about  to  thrust  into  the  pocket  of 
the  carriage,  he  asked  what  was  that.  I  said  it  was  one  of 
my  volumes  of  odds  and  ends,  and  read  him  my  last  entry. 
"  This  is  the  very  thing,*"  he  said,  and  carried  it  off'  with 
him.'  The  book  was  correctly  described  as  a  volume  of 
odds  and  ends,  and  was  hardly  worth  preserving  in  a 

143 


LADY  MORGAN 

permanent  shape,  though  it  contains  one  or  two  interest- 
ing autobiographical  scraps,  such  as  the  account  of  My 
First  Rout,  from  which  a  quotation  has  already  been 
given.  A  writer  in  Blackwood  reviewed  the  work  in  a 
vein  of  ironical  admiration,  professing  to  be  much  im- 
pressed by  the  author's  knowledge  of  metaphysics  as 
exemplified  in  such  a  sentence  as  :  '  The  idea  of  cause 
is  a  consequence  of  our  consciousness  of  the  force  we 
exert  in  subjecting  externals  to  the  changes  dictated 
by  our  volition.'  Unable  to  keep  up  the  laudatory 
strain,  even  in  joke,  the  reviewer  (his  style  points  to 
Christopher  North)  calls  a  literary  friend  to  his  assist- 
ance, who  takes  the  opposite  view,  and  declares  that  the 
book  is  '  a  tawdry  tissue  of  tedious  trumpery ;  a  tessel- 
lated texture  of  threadbare  thievery ;  a  trifling  transcript 
of  trite  twaddle  and  trapessing  tittle-tattle.  .  .  .  Like 
everything  that  falls  from  her  pen,  it  is  pert,  shallow, 
and  conceited,  a  farrago  of  ignorance,  indecency,  and 
blasphemy,  a  tag-rag  and  bob-tail  style  of  writing — like 
a  harlequin's  jacket.' 

Lady  Morgan  bobbed  up  as  irrepressibly  as  ever  from 
under  this  torrent  of  (so-called)  criticism,  made  a  tour 
in  France  and  Belgium  for  the  purpose  of  writing  more 
'  trapessing  tittle-tattle,'  and  on  her  return  to  London, 
such  were  the  profits  on  blasphemy  and  indecency, 
bought  her  first  carriage.  This  equipage  was  a  source 
of  much  amusement  to  her  friends  in  Dublin,  'Neither 
she  nor  Sir  Charles,'  we  are  told,  'knew  the  difference 
between  a  good  carriage  and  a  bad  one — a  carriage  was 
a  carriage  to  them.  It  was  never  known  where  this 
vehicle  was  bought,  except  that  Lady  Morgan  declared 
it  came  from  the  first  carriage-builder  in  London.  In 
shape  it  was  like  a  grasshopper,  as  well  as  in  colour. 
144 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

Very  high  and  very  springy,  with  enormous  wheels,  it 
was  difficult  to  get  into,  and  dangerous  to  get  out  of. 
Sir  Charles,  who  never  in  his  life  before  had  mounted  a 
coach-box,  was  persuaded  by  his  wife  to  drive  his  own 
carriage.  He  was  extremely  short-sighted,  and  wore 
large  green  spectacles  out  of  doors.  His  costume  was 
a  coat  much  trimmed  with  fur,  and  heavily  braided. 
James  Grant,  the  tall  Irish  footman,  in  the  brightest  of 
red  plush,  sat  beside  him,  his  office  being  to  jump  down 
whenever  anybody  was  knocked  down,  or  run  over,  for 
Sir  Charles  drove  as  it  pleased  God.  The  horse  was 
mercifully  a  very  quiet  animal,  and  much  too  small  for 
the  carriage,  or  the  mischief  would  have  been  worse. 
Lady  Morgan,  in  the  large  bonnet  of  the  period,  and  a 
cloak  lined  with  fur  hanging  over  the  back  of  the 
carriage,  gave,  as  she  conceived,  the  crowning  grace  to 
a  neat  and  elegant  turn-out.  The  only  drawback  to 
her  satisfaction  was  the  alarm  caused  by  Sir  Charles''s 
driving ;  and  she  was  incessantly  springing  up  to  adjure 
him  to  take  care,  to  which  he  would  reply  with  warmth, 
after  the  manner  of  husbands.' 

In  1830  Lady  Morgan  published  her  France  (1829-30). 
This  book  was  not  a  commission,  but  she  had  told 
Colburn  that  she  was  writing  it,  and  as  he  made  her  no 
definite  offer,  she  opened  negotiations  with  the  firm  of 
Saunders  and  Otley.  Colburn,  who  looked  upon  her  as 
his  special  property,  was  furious  at  her  desertion,  and 
informed  her  that  if  she  did  not  at  once  break  off  with 
Saunders  and  Otley,  it  would  be  no  less  detrimental  to 
her  literary  than  to  her  pecuniary  interest.  Undismayed 
by  this  threat,  Lady  Morgan  accepted  the  offer  of  a 
thousand  pounds  made  her  by  the  rival  firm.  Colburn, 
who  was  a  power  in  the  litci-ary  market,  kept  his  word. 
K  145 


LADY  MORGAN 

He  advertised  in  his  own  periodicals  '  Lady  Morgan  at 
Half-price,'  and  stated  publicly  that  in  consequence  of 
the  losses  he  had  sustained  by  her  former  works,  he  had 
declined  her  new  book,  and  that  copies  of  all  her  publi- 
cations might  be  had  at  half-price.  In  consequence  of 
these  and  other  machinations,  the  new  France,  which  was 
at  least  as  good  a  book  as  the  old  one,  fell  flat,  and  the 
unfortunate  publishers  were  only  able  to  make  one  pay- 
ment of  dS'SOO.  They  tried  to  get  their  contract  can- 
celled in  court,  and  Colburn,  who  was  called  as  a  witness, 
admitted  that  he  had  done  his  best  to  injure  Lady 
Morgan's  literary  reputation.  Eventually,  the  matter 
was  compromised,  Saunders  and  Otley  being  allowed  to 
publish  Lady  Morgan's  next  book.  Dramatic  Scenes  and 
Sketches,  as  some  compensation  for  their  loss;  but  of 
this,  too,  they  failed  to  make  a  success. 

The  reviews  of  France  were  few  and  slighting,  the 
wickedest  and  most  amusing  being  by  Theodore  Hook. 
He  quotes  with  glee  the  author's  complacent  record  that 
she  was  compared  to  Moliere  by  the  Parisians,  and  that 
she  had  seen  in  a  '  poetry-book '  the  following  lines : — 

'  Slendal  {sic),  Morgan,  Schlegel — ne  vous  eifrayez  pas — 
Muses  !  ce  sont  des  noms  fameux  dans  nos  climats.' 

'  Her  ladyship,'  continues  Theodore,  '  went  to  dine  with 
one  of  those  spectacle  and  sealing-wax  barons,  Roth- 
schild, at  Paris ;  where  never  was  such  a  dinner,  "  no 
catsup  and  walnut  pickle,  but  a  mayonese  fried  in  ice, 
like  Ninon's  description  of  Seveigne's  {sic)  heart,"  and  to 
all  this  fine  show  she  was  led  out  by  Rothschild  himself. 
After  the  soup  she  took  an  opportunity  of  praising  the 
cook,  of  whom  she  had  heard  much.  "  Eh  bien,"  says 
146 


LADY  MORGAN 

Rothschild,  laughing,  as  well  he  might,  "he  on  his  side 
has  also  relished  your  works,  and  here  is  a  proof  of  it."" 
"  I  really  blush,"  says  Miladi,  "  like  Sterne's  accusing 
spirit,  as  I  give  in  the  fact — but — he  pointed  to  a  column 
of  the  most  ingenious  confectionery  architecture,  on  which 
my  name  was  inscribed  in  spun  sugar.""  There  was  a  thing 
— Lady  Morgan  in  spun  sugar!  And  what  does  the 
reader  think  her  ladyship  did?  She  shall  tell  in  her 
own  dear  words.  "  All  I  could  do  under  my  triumphant 
emotion  I  did.  I  begged  to  be  introduced  to  the  cele- 
brated and  flattering  artist.'^  It  is  a  fact — to  the  cook  ; 
and  another  fact,  which  only  shows  that  the  Hebrew 
baron  is  a  Jew  (Tesprit,  is  that  after  coffee,  the  cook 
actually  came  up,  and  was  presented  to  her.  "  He,""  says 
her  ladyship,  "  was  a  well-bred  gentleman,  perfectly  free 
from  pedantry,  and  when  we  had  mutually  compli- 
mented each  other  on  our  respective  works,  he  bowed 
himself  out."' 

In  spite  of  her  egoism  and  her  many  absurdities, 
it  seems  clear  from  contemporary  evidence  that  in 
London,  where  she  usually  appeared  during  the  season. 
Lady  Morgan  had  a  following.  The  names  of  most  of  the 
literai-y  celebrities  of  the  day  appe£u:  amid  the  disjointed 
jottings  of  her  diary.  We  hear  of  *  that  egregious 
coxcomb  D"'Israeli,  outraging  the  privilege  a  young  man 
has  of  being  absurd  "* ;  and  Sydney  Smith  '  so  natural, 
so  bon  en/ant,  so  little  of  a  wit  titr^  "* ;  and  Mrs.  Bulwer- 
Lytton,  handsome,  insolent,  and  unamiable ;  and  Allan 
Cunningham,  *  immense  fun"*;  and  Thomas  Hood,  *a 
grave-looking  personage,  the  picture  of  ill-health  "* ;  and 
her  old  critical  enemy,  Lord  Jeffrey,  with  whom  Lady 
Morgan  started  a  violent  flirtation.  *When  he  comes 
to  Ireland/  she  writes,  *we  are  to  go  to  Donnybrook 

147 


LADY  MORGAN 

Fair  together;  in  short,  having  cut  me  down  with  his 
tomahawk  as  a  reviewer,  he  smothers  me  with  roses  as 
a  man.  I  always  say  of  my  enemies  before  we  meet, 
"Let  me  at  them."' 

The  other  literary  women  were  naturally  the  chief 
object  of  interest  to  her.  Lady  Morgan  seems  to  have 
been  fairly  free  from  professional  jealousy,  though  she 
hated  her  countrywoman,  Lady  Blessington,  with  a  deadly 
hatred.  Mrs.  Gore,  then  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
novelists,  she  finds  '  a  pleasant  little  roiidelette  of  a  woman, 
something  of  my  own  style.  We  talked  and  laughed 
together,  as  good-natured  women  do,  and  agreed  upon 
many  points."*  The  learned  Mrs.  Somerville  is  described 
as  'a  simple,  little,  middle-aged  woman.  Had  she  not 
been  presented  to  me  by  name  and  reputation,  I  should 
have  said  she  was  one  of  the  respectable  twaddling 
matrons  one  meets  at  every  ball,  dressed  in  a  snug 
mulberry  velvet  gown,  and  a  little  cap  with  a  red  flower. 
I  asked  her  how  she  could  descend  from  the  stars  to  mix 
among  us.  She  said  she  was  obliged  to  go  out  with  a 
daughter.  From  the  glimpse  of  her  last  night,  I  should 
say  there  was  no  imagination,  no  deep  moral  philosophy, 
though  a  great  deal  of  scientific  lore,  and  a  great  deal  of 
bonhomie.''  For  '  poor  dear  Jane  Porter,'  the  author  of 
Scottish  Chiefs,  Lady  Morgan  felt  the  natural  contempt 
of  a  '  showy  woman '  for  one  who  looks  like  a  '  shabby 
canoness.'  '  Miss  Porter,'  she  records,  '  told  me  she  was 
taken  for  me  the  other  night,  and  talked  to  as  s^och  by  a 
party  of  Americans.  She  is  tall,  lank,  lean,  and  lacka- 
daisical, dressed  in  the  deepest  black,  with  a  battered 
black  gauze  hat,  and  the  air  of  a  regular  Melpomene.  I 
am  the  reverse  of  all  this,  and  sans  vanity,  the  best-dressed 
woman  wherever  I  go.  Last  night  I  wore  a  blue  satin, 
148 


LADY  MORGAN 

trimmed  fully  with  magnificent  point-lace,  and  stomacher 
a  la  Sevigni,  light  blue  velvet  hat  and  feathers,  with  an 
aigrette  of  sapphires  and  diamonds.'  As  Lady  Morgan  at 
this  time  was  nearer  sixty  than  fifty,  rouged  liberally,  and 
made  all  her  own  dresses,  her  appearance  in  the  costume 
above  described  must  at  least  have  been  remarkable. 

Lady  Morgan's  last  novel,  a  Belgian  story  called  The 
Princess,  or  the  Beguine,  was  published  by  Bentley  in 
1834,  and  for  the  first  edition  she  received  <£^50,  a  sad 
falling-off  from  the  prices  received  in  former  days.  As 
her  popularity  waned,  she  grew  discontented  with  life  in 
Dublin,  'the  wretched  capital  of  wretched  Ireland,'  as 
she  calls  it,  and  in  a  moment  of  mental  depression  she 
entered  the  characteristic  query, '  Cui  bono  ?'  in  her  diary. 
To  the  same  faithful  volume  she  confided  complaints  even 
of  her  beloved  Morgan,  but  the  fact  that  she  could  find 
nothing  worse  to  reproach  him  with  than  a  disinclination 
for  fresh  air  and  exercise,  speaks  volumes  for  his  marital 
virtue.  A  more  serious  trouble  came  from  failing  eyesight, 
which  in  1837  threatened  to  develop  into  total  blindness. 
It  was  in  this  year,  when  things  seemed  at  their  darkest, 
tliat  a  pension  of  06*300  a  year  was  confeiTed  on  her  by 
Lord  Melbourne, '  in  recognition  of  her  merits,  literary  and 
patriotic'  It  was  probably  this  unexpected  accession  of 
income  that  decided  the  Morgans  to  leave  Dublin,  and 
spend  the  remainder  of  their  days  in  London.  They  found 
a  pleasant  little  house  in  William  Street,  Knightsbridge, 
a  new  residential  quarter  which  was  just  growing  up 
under  the  fostering  care  of  Mr.  Cubitt.  Lady  Morgan 
went  'into  raptures  over  the  pretty  new  quarter,'  and 
wrote  some  articles  on  Pimlico  in  the  Athenccum,  She 
also  got  up  a  successful  agitation  for  an  entrance  into 
Hyde  Park  at  what  is  now  known  as  Albert  Gate.     For 

149 


LADY  MORGAN 

deserting  Ireland,  after  receiving  a  pension  for  patriotism, 
and  writing  against  the  evils  of  Absenteeism,  Lady 
Morgan  was  subjected  to  a  good  deal  of  sarcasm  by  her 
countrymen.  But,  as  she  pointed  out,  her  property  in 
Ireland  was  personal,  not  real,  the  tenant-farm  of  a 
drawing-room  balcony,  on  which  annual  crops  of  migno- 
nette were  raised  for  home  consumption,  being  the  only 
territorial  possession  that  she  had  ever  enjoyed. 

Lady  Morgan's  eyesight  must  have  temporarily  im- 
proved with  her  change  of  dwelling,  for  in  1839  the  first 
part  of  her  last  work  of  any  importance.  Woman  and  her 
Master,  was  published  by  Colburn,  to  whom  she  had  at 
last  become  reconciled.  This  book,  which  was  never 
finished,  was  designed  to  prove,  among  other  things,  that 
in  spite  of  the  subordination  in  which  women  have  been 
kept,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  artificial  difficulties  that  have 
been  put  in  their  way,  not  only  have  they  never  been 
conquered  in  spirit,  but  that  they  have  always  been  the 
depositaries  of  the  vital  and  leading  ideas  of  the  time. 
The  book  is  more  soberly  written  than  most  of  Lady 
Morgan's  works,  but  it  would  probably  be  regarded  by 
the  modern  reader  as  dull  and  superficial.  It  was  gener- 
ally believed  that  Sir  Charles  had  assisted  in  its  composi- 
tion, and  few  men  have  ever  wielded  a  heavier  pen.  The 
pair  only  issued  one  more  joint  work.  The  Book  Without 
a  Name,  which  appeared  in  1842,  and  consisted  chiefly 
of  articles  and  sketches  that  had  already  been  published 
in  the  magazines. 

The  Morgans  now  found  their  chief  occupation  and 
amusement  in  the  society  which  they  attracted  to  their 
cheerful  little  house.  One  or  two  sketches  of  the  pair, 
as  they  appeared  in  their  later  days,  have  been  left  by 
contemporaries.  Chorley,  an  intimate  friend,  observes 
150 


I 


LADY  MORGAN 

that,  like  all  the  sceptics  he  ever  approached,  they  were 
absurdly  prejudiced,  and  proof  against  all  new  impres- 
sions. '  Neither  of  them,  though  both  were  literary  and 
musical,  could  endure  German  literature  and  music,  had 
got  beyond  the  stale  sarcasms  of  the  Anti-Jacobin,  or 
could  admit  that  there  is  glory  for  such  men  as  Weber, 
Beethoven,  and  Mendelssohn,  as  well  as  for  Cimarosa  and 
Paisiello.  .  .  .  Her  familiar  conversation  was  a  series  of 
brilliant,  egotistic,  shrewd,  and  genial  sallies,  and  she 
could  be  either  caressing  or  impudent.  In  the  matter  of 
self-approbation  she  had  no  Statute  of  Limitation,  but 
boasted  of  having  taught  Taglioni  to  dance  an  Irish  jig, 
and  declared  that  she  had  created  the  Irish  novel,  though 
in  the  next  breath  she  would  say  that  she  was  a  child 
when  Miss  Edgeworth  was  a  grown  woman.'  Her  blunders- 
were  proverbial,  as  when  she  asked  in  all  simplicity, 
*  Who  was  Jeremy  Taylor  ?  "*  and  on  being  presented  to 
Mrs.  Sarah  Austin,  complimented  her  on  having  written 
Pride  and  Prejudice. 

Another  friend,  Abraham  Hay  ward,  used  to  say  that 
Lady  Morgan  had  been  transplanted  to  London  too  late, 
and  that  she  was  never  free  of  the  corporation  of  fine 
ladies,  though  she  saw  a  good  deal  of  them.  '  She  errone- 
ously fancied  that  she  was  expected  to  entertain  the 
company,  be  it  what  it  might,  and  she  was  fond  of  telling 
stories  in  which  she  figured  as  the  companion  of  the  great, 
instead  of  confining  herself  to  scenes  of  low  Irish  life, 
which  she  described  inimitably.  Lady  Cork  was  accus- 
tomed to  say,  "I  like  Lady  Morgan  very  much  as  an  Irish 
blackguard,  but  I  can'*t  endure  her  as  an  English  fine 
lady."' 

In  184S  Sir  Charles  died  rather  suddenly  from  heart 
disease.     His  wife   mourned   him  sincerely,  but  not  for 

151 


LADY  MORGAN 

long  in  solitude.  She  found  the  anaesthetic  for  her  grief 
in  society,  and  after  a  few  months  of  widowhood  writes : 
*  Everybody  makes  a  point  of  having  me  out,  and  I  am 
beginning  to  be  familiarised  with  my  great  loss.  London 
is  the  best  place  in  the  world  for  the  happy  and  the 
unhappy ;  there  is  a  floating  capital  of  sympathy  for 
every  human  good  or  evil.  I  am  a  nobody,  and  yet  what 
kindness  I  am  daily  receiving.'  Again,  in  1845,  after  her 
sister's  death,  she  notes  in  her  diary :  '  The  world  is  my 
gin  or  opium  ;  I  take  it  for  a  few  hours  per  diem — excite- 
ment, intoxication,  absence.  I  return  to  my  desolate 
home,  and  wake  to  all  the  horrors  of  sobriety.  .  .  .  Yet 
I  am  accounted  the  agreeable  rattle  of  the  great  ladies' 
coterie,  and  I  talk  pas  mal  to  many  clever  men  all  day. 
.  .  .  That  Park  near  me,  of  which  my  beloved  Morgan 
used  to  say,  "  It  is  ours  more  than  the  Queen's,  we  use 
it  daily  and  enjoy  it  nightly" — that  Park  that  I  worked 
so  hard  to  get  an  entrance  into,  I  never  walk  in  it ;  it 
seems  to  me  covered  with  crape.' 

Among  the  friends  of  Lady  Morgan's  old  age  were  the 
Carter  Halls,  Hepworth  Dixon,  Miss  Jewsbury,  Hay  ward, 
and  Douglas  Jerrold.  Lord  Campbell,  old  Rogers,  and 
Cardinal  Wiseman  frequented  her  soirees,  though  with 
the  last-named  she  had  waged  a  pamphlet  war  over  the 
authenticity  of  St.  Peter's  chair  at  Rome.  Rogers  was 
reported  to  be  engaged  to  one  of  Lady  Morgan's  attrac- 
tive nieces,  the  Miss  Clarkes,  who  often  stayed  with  her. 
It  was  in  allusion  to  this  rumour  that  he  said,  '  Whenever 
my  name  is  coupled  with  that  of  a  young  lady  in  this 
manner,  I  make  it  a  point  of  honour  to  say  I  have  been 
refused.'  To  the  last,  we  are  told,  Lady  Morgan  pre- 
served the  natural  vivacity  and  aptness  of  repartee  that 
had  made  her  the  delight  of  Dublin  society  half  a  century 
152 


i 


LADY  MORGAN 

before.  *  I  know  I  am  vain/  she  said  once  to  Mrs.  Hall, 
*  but  I  have  a  right  to  be.  It  is  not  put  on  and  off  like 
my  rouge;  it  is  always  with  me.  ...  I  wrote  books 
when  your  mothers  worked  samplers,  and  demanded 
freedom  for  Ireland  when  Dan  O'Connell  scrambled  for 
gulls'  eggs  in  the  crags  of  Derrynane.  .  .  .  Look  at  the 
number  of  books  I  have  written.  Did  ever  woman  move 
in  a  brighter  sphere  than  I  do .?  I  have  three  invitations 
to  dinner  to-day,  one  from  a  duchess,  one  from  a  countess, 
and  the  third  from  a  diplomatist,  a  very  witty  man,  who 
keeps  the  best  society  in  London.' 

Lady  Morgan  was  fond  of  boasting  that  she  had 
supported  herself  since  she  was  fourteen  (for  which  read 
seventeen  or  eighteen),  and  insisted  on  the  advantage  of 
giving  every  girl  a  profession  by  which  she  could  earn 
her  living,  if  the  need  arose.  Speaking  to  Mrs.  Hall  on 
the  subject  of  some  girls  who  had  been  suddenly  bereft 
of  fortune,  she  exclaimed :  '  They  do  everything  that  is 
fashionable  imperfectly ;  their  drawing,  singing,  dancing, 
and  languages  amount  to  nothing.  They  were  educated 
to  marry,  and  had  they  had  time,  they  might  have  gone 
off  withy  and  hereafter  from,  husbands.  I  desire  to  give 
every  girl,  no  matter  her  rank,  a  trade  or  profession. 
Cultivate  what  is  necessary  to  the  position  she  is  born  to ; 
cultivate  all  things  in  moderation,  but  one  thing  to  per- 
fection, no  matter  what  it  is,  for  which  she  has  a  talent : 
give  her  a  staff  to  lay  hold  of;  let  her  feel,  "This  will 
carry  me  through  life  without  dependence.*" ' 

With  the  assistance  of  Miss  Jewsbury  Lady  Morgan,  in 
the  last  years  of  her  life,  prepared  a  volume  of  reminis- 
cences, which  she  called  The  Odd  Volume,  This,  which 
was  published  in  1859,  only  deals  with  a  short  period  of 
her  career,  and  is  of  little  literary  interest.    The  A  theturumy 

153 


LADY  MORGAN 

in  the  course  of  a  laudatory  review,  observed  that  '  Lady 
Morgan  had  lived  through  the  love,  admiration,  and 
malignity  of  three  generations  of  men,  and  was,  in  short, 
a  literary  Ninon,  who  seemed  as  brisk  and  captivating  in 
the  year  1859  as  when  George  was  Prince,  and  the  author 
of  "Kate  Kearney"  divided  the  laureateship  of  society 
and  song  with  Tom  Moore."* 

Lady  Morgan,  though  now  an  octogenarian,  was  by  no 
means  pleased  at  these  remarks.  She  still  prided  herself 
on  her  fascinations,  was  never  tired  and  never  bored,  and 
looked  upon  any  one  who  died  under  a  hundred  years  of 
age  as  a  suicide.  '  You  have  more  strength  and  spirit, 
as  well  as  more  genius,  than  any  of  us,"*  wrote  Abraham 
Hay  ward  to  her.  'We  must  go  back  to  the  brilliant 
women  of  the  eighteenth  century  to  find  anything  like  a 
parallel  to  you  and  your  soirees.''  But  bronchitis  was  an 
enemy  with  which  even  her  high  spirit  was  powerless  to 
cope.  She  had  an  attack  in  1858,  but  threw  it  off,  and 
on  Christmas  Day  gave  a  dinner,  at  which  she  told  Irish 
stories  with  all  her  old  vivacity,  and  sang  '  The  Night 
before  Larry  was  Stretched.'  On  St.  Patrick's  Day,  1859, 
she  gave  a  musical  matinee,  but  caught  cold  the  following 
week,  and  after  a  short  illness,  died  on  April  16th. 

Thus  ended  the  career  of  one  of  the  most  flattered  and 
best  abused  women  of  the  century.  Held  up  as  the 
Irish  Madame  de  Stael  by  her  admirers,  and  run  down  as 
a  monster  of  impudence  and  iniquity  by  her  enemies,  it 
is  no  wonder  that  her  character,  by  no  means  innately 
refined,  became  hardened,  if  not  coarsened,  by  so  un- 
enviable a  notoriety.  Still,  to  her  credit  be  it  remem- 
bered that  she  never  lost  a  friend,  and  that  she  converted 
more  than  one  impersonal  enmity  (as  in  the  case  of 
Jeffrey  and  Lockhart)  into  a  personal  friendship.  In 
154 


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LADY  MORGAN 

spite  of  her  passion  for  the  society  of  the  great,  she 
wrote  and  worked  throughout  her  whole  career  for  the 
cause  of  liberty,  and  she  was  ever  on  the  side  of  the 
oppressed.  An  incorrigible  flirt  before  marriage,  she 
developed  into  an  irreproachable  matron,  while  her 
natural  frivolity  and  feather-headedness  never  tempted 
her  to  neglect  her  work,  nor  interfered  with  her  faculty 
for  making  most  advantageous  business  arrangements. 
*  With  all  her  frank  vanity,'  we  are  told, '  she  had  shrewd 
good  sense,  and  she  valued  herself  much  more  on  her 
industry  than  on  her  genius,  because  the  one,  she  said,  she 
owed  to  her  organisation,  but  the  other  was  a  virtue  of 
her  own  rearing.'  It  would  be  impossible  to  conclude  a 
sketch  of  Lady  Morgan  more  appropriately  than  by  the 
following  lines  of  Leigh  Hunt,  which  she  herself  was  fond 
of  quoting,  and  in  which  her  personal  idiosyncrasies  are 
pleasantly  touched  off: — 

'  And  dear  Lady  Morgan^  see,  see,  wheu  she  comes. 
With  her  pulses  all  beating  for  freedom  like  drums. 
So  Irish,  so  modish,  so  mixtish,  so  wild  ; 
So  committing  herself  as  she  talks — like  a  child. 
So  trim,  yet  so  easy — polite,  yet  high-hearted, 
Tliat  truth  and  she,  try  all  she  can,  won't  Ihj  parted  ; 
She'll  put  you  your  fashions,  your  latest  new  air. 
And  then  talk  so  frankly,  she  'II  make  you  all  stare.' 


155 


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NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 


'  /  u  /Jiia^n4^6',^^ct^^ 


■ce^  >%^%<^ 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

PART    I 

Any  fool,  said  a  wise  man,  can  write  an  interesting  book 
if  he  will  only  take  the  trouble  to  set  down  exactly  what 
he  has  seen  and  heard.  Unfortunately,  it  is  only  a  very 
special  kind  of  fool  who  is  capable  of  recording  exactly 
what  he  sees  and  hears — a  rare  bird  who  flourishes 
perhaps  once  in  a  century,  and  is  remembered  long  after 
wiser  men  are  forgotten.  It  is  not  contended  that  the 
subject  of  this  memoir  was  a  fool  in  the  crude  sense  of  the 
word,  though  he  was  responsible  for  a  good  deal  of  folly ; 
but  he  was  inspired  by  that  impertinent  curiosity,  that 
happy  lack  of  dignity,  and  that  passion  for  the  trivial 
and  the  intimate,  which,  when  joined  to  a  natural  talent 
for  observation  and  a  picturesque  narrative  style,  enable 
the  possessor  to  illuminate  a  circle  and  a  period  in  a 
fashion  never  achieved  by  the  most  learned  lucubrations 
of  the  profoundest  scholars.  Thanks  to  his  Boswellising 
powers,  *  Namby-Pamby  Willis,'  as  he  was  called  by  his 
numerous  enemies,  has  left  an  admirably  vivid  picture  of 
the  literary  society  of  London  in  the  '  thirties,"  a  picture 
that  steadily  increases  in  value  as  the  period  at  which  it 
was  painted  recedes  into  the  past. 

Willis  came  of  a  family  that  had  contrived,  not  un- 
successfully, to  combine  religion  with  journalism.     His 

159 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

immediate  forebears  seem  to  have  been  persons  of  marked 
individuality,  and  his  pedigree  was,  for  the  New  World, 
of  quite  respectable  antiquity.  The  founder  of  the 
family,  George  Willis,  was  born  early  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  emigrated  to  New  England  about  1730, 
where  he  worked  at  his  trade  of  brickmaking  and 
building.  Our  hero's  great-grandfather  was  a  patriotic 
sailmaker,  who  assisted  at  a  certain  historic  entertain- 
ment, when  tar,  feather's,  and  hot  tea  were  administered 
gratis  to  his  Majesty's  tax-collector  at  Boston.  His  wife^ 
Abigail,  was  a  lady  of  character  and  maxims,  who  saved 
some  tea  for  her  private  use  when  three  hundred  cases 
were  emptied  into  Boston  Harbour,  and  exhorted  her 
family  never  to  eat  brown  bread  when  they  could  get 
white,  and  never  to  go  in  at  the  back  door  when  they 
might  go  in  at  the  front.  The  son  of  this  worthy  couple 
conducted  a  Whig  newspaper  in  Boston  during  the 
Rebellion,  and  became  one  of  the  pioneer  journalists  of 
the  West.  His  son,  Nathaniel's  sire,  was  invited,  in 
1803,  to  start  a  newspaper  at  Portland,  Maine,  where  the 
future  Penciller  was  born  in  1806,  one  year  before  his 
fellow-townsman  Longfellow. 

A  few  years  later,  Mr.  Willis  returned  to  Boston, 
where,  in  1816,  he  started  the  Boston  Recorder^  the  first 
newspaper,  he  was  accustomed  to  say,  that  had  ever  been 
run  on  religious  lines.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  respect- 
able, but  narrow-minded  man,  who  loved  long  devotions 
and  many  services,  and  looked  upon  dancing,  card- 
playing  and  stage-plays  as  works  of  the  Evil  One.  His 
redeeming  points  were  a  sense  of  humour  and  a  keen 
appreciation  of  female  beauty,  which  last  characteristic 
he  certainly  bequeathed  to  his  son.  It  was  his  custom 
to  sit  round  the  fire  with  his  nine  children  on  winter 
160 


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NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

evenings,  and  tell  them  stories  about  the  old  Dutch 
tiles,  representing  New  Testament  scenes,  with  which 
the  chimney-comer  was  lined.  The  success  of  these 
informal  Scripture  lessons  led  him  to  establish  a  religious 
paper  for  young  people  called  The  Youth's  Companion,  in 
which  some  of  our  hero's  early  verses  appeared.  His 
wife,  Hannah  Parker,  is  described  as  a  charming  woman, 
lively,  impulsive,  and  emotional.  Her  son,  Nathaniel, 
whose  devotion  to  her  never  wavered,  used  to  say,  *  My 
veins  are  teeming  with  the  quicksilver  spirit  my  mother 
gave  me.** 

Willis  the  younger  was  sent  to  school  at  Boston, 
where  he  had  Emerson  for  a  schoolfellow,  and  after- 
wards to  the  university  of  Yale,  where  he  wrote  much 
poetry,  and  was  well  received  in  the  society  of  the  place 
on  account  of  his  good  looks,  easy  manners,  and  pre- 
cocious literary  reputation.  On  leaving  Yale,  he  was 
delivered  of  a  volume  of  juvenile  poems,  and  then  settled 
down  in  Boston  to  four  years' journalistic  work.  Samuel 
Goodrich,  better  known  in  England  under  his  pseudonym 
of '  Peter  Parley,'  engaged  him  to  edit  some  annuals  and 
gift-books,  an  employment  which  the  young  man  found 
particularly  congenial.  In  his  Recollections  Peter  Parley 
draws  a  comparison  between  his  two  contributors,  Haw- 
thorne and  Willis,  and  records  that  everything  Willis 
wrote  attracted  immediate  attention,  while  the  early 
productions  of  Hawthorne  passed  almost  unnoticed. 

In  1829  Willis  started  on  his  own  account  with  the 
American  Monthly  Magazine^  which  had  an  existence  of 
little  more  than  two  years.  He  announced  that  he  could 
not  afford  to  pay  for  contributions,  as  he  expected  only 
a  small  circulation,  and  he  wrote  most  of  the  copy 
himself.     Every  month  there  were  discursive,  gossiping 

L  161 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

editorial  articles  in  that  '  personal  **  vein  which  has  been 
worked  with  so  much  industry  in  our  own  day.  He 
took  his  readers  into  his  confidence,  prattled  about  his 
japonica  and  his  pastilles,  and  described  his  favourite  bird, 
a  scarlet  trulian,  and  his  dogs,  Ugolino  and  L.  E.  L., 
who  slept  in  the  waste-paper  basket.  He  professed  to 
write  with  a  bottle  of  Rudesheimer  and  a  plate  of  olives 
at  his  elbow,  and  it  was  hinted  that  he  ate  fruit  in  summer 
with  an  amber-handled  fork  to  keep  his  palm  cool ! 

These  youthful  affectations  had  a  peculiarly  exas- 
perating effect  upon  men  of  a  different  type ;  and  Willis 
became  the  butt  of  the  more  old-fashioned  critics, 
who  vied  with  each  other  in  inventing  opprobrious 
epithets  to  shower  upon  the  head  of  this  young  puppy  of 
journalism.  However,  Nathaniel  was  not  a  person  who 
could  easily  be  suppressed,  and  he  soon  became  one  of 
the  most  popular  magazine-writers  of  his  time,  his  prose 
being  described  by  an  admirer  as  'delicate  and  brief 
like  a  white  jacket — transparent  like  a  lump  of  sugar  in 
champagne — soft-tempered  like  the  sea-breeze  at  night.' 
Unfortunately,  the  magazines  paid  but  little,  even  for 
prose  of  the  above  description,  and  Willis  presently 
found  himself  in  financial  difficulties;  while,  with  all 
his  acknowledged  fascinations,  he  was  unlucky  in  his 
first  love-affair.  He  became  engaged  to  a  beautiful  girl 
called  Mary  Benham,  but  her  guardian  broke  off  the 
match,  and  the  lady,  who  seems  to  have  had  an  inclina- 
tion for  literary  men,  afterwards  married  Motley,  the 
historian  of  the  Dutch  Republic. 

In  1831   the  American  Monthly  Magazine  ceased  to 

appear,  and    Willis,  leaving   Boston  and   his   creditors 

without  regret,  obtained  the  post  of  assistant-editor  on 

the    New     York    Mirror^   a   weekly   paper   devoted    to 

162 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

literature,  light  fiction,  and  the  fine  arts.  It  was  the 
property  of  Morris,  author  of  the  once  world-famous 
song, '  Woodman,  spare  that  Tree,**  and  the  editor-in-chief 
was  Theodore  Fay,  a  novelist  of  some  distinction.  Soon 
after  his  appointment  it  was  decided  that  Willis  should 
be  sent  to  Europe  as  foreign  correspondent  of  his  paper. 
A  sum  of  about  a  hundred  pounds  was  scraped  together 
for  his  expenses,  and  it  was  arranged  that  he  should 
write  weekly  letters  at  the  rate  of  two  guineas  a  letter. 
In  the  autumn  of  1831  he  sailed  in  a  merchant-vessel  for 
Havre,  whence  he  journeyed  to  Paris  in  November. 
Here  he  spent  the  first  five  or  six  months  of  his  tour,  and 
here  began  the  series  of  *Pencil]ings  by  the  Way,'  a 
portion  of  which  gained  him  rather  an  unwelcome  noto- 
riety in  English  society  by  reason  of  the  '  personalities  ** 
it  contained.  When  published  in  book  form  the  Pencil- 
lings  were  considerably  toned  down,  and  the  proper  names 
were  represented  by  initials,  so  that  people  who  read 
them  then  for  the  first  time  wondered  what  all  the 
excitement  had  been  about.  As  the  chapters  which 
relate  to  England  are  of  most  interest  to  English  readers, 
Willis's  continental  adventures  need  only  be  briefly 
noticed.  The  extracts  here  quoted  are  taken  from  the 
original  letters  as  they  appeared  in  the  New  York  Mirror^ 
which  differ  in  many  respects  from  the  version  that 
was  published  in  London  after  the  attack  by  the 
Quarterly  Review, 

In  Paris  Willis  found  himself  in  his  element,  and  was 
made  much  of  by  the  Anglo-French  community,  which 
was  then  under  the  special  patronage  of  Lafayette.  One 
of  the  most  interesting  of  his  new  acquaintances  was  the 
Countess  Guiccioli,  upon  whose  appearance  and  manners 
he  comments  with  characteristic  frankness. 

16S 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

*I  met  the  Guiccioli  yesterday  in  the  Tuileries,'  he 
writes  shortly  after  his  arrival.  'She  looks  much 
younger  than  I  anticipated,  and  is  a  handsome  blonde, 
apparently  about  thirty.  I  am  told  by  a  gentle- 
man who  knows  her  that  she  has  become  a  great  flirt, 
and  is  quite  spoiled  by  admiration.  The  celebrity  of 
Lord  Byron's  attachment  would  certainly  make  her  a 
very  desirable  acquaintance  were  she  much  less  pretty 
than  she  really  is,  and  I  am  told  her  drawing-room  is 
thronged  with  lovers  of  all  nations  contending  for  a 
preference  which,  having  once  been  given,  should  be 
buried,  I  think,  for  ever."  A  little  later  he  has  himself 
been  introduced  to  the  Guiccioli,  and  he  describes  an 
interview  which  he  has  had  with  her,  when  the  conversa- 
tion turned  upon  her  friendship  with  Shelley. 

'  She  gave  me  one  of  his  letters  to  herself  as  an  auto- 
graph,' he  narrates.  '  She  says  he  was  at  times  a  little 
crsizy—^ou,  as  she  expressed  it — but  there  never  was  a 
nobler  or  a  better  man.  Lord  Byron,  she  says,  loved 
him  as  a  brother.  .  .  .  There  were  several  miniatures  of 
Byron  hanging  up  in  the  room;  I  asked  her  if  any  of 
them  were  perfect  in  the  resemblance.  "  No,*"  she  said, 
"  that  is  the  most  like  him,'"*  taking  down  a  miniature  by 
an  Italian  artist,  "  mais  il  etait  beaucoup  plus  beau — beau- 
coup — beaucoup.''''  She  reiterated  the  word  with  a  very 
touching  tenderness,  and  continued  to  look  at  the  por- 
trait for  some  time.  .  .  .  She  went  on  talking  of  the 
painters  who  had  drawn  Byron,  and  said  the  American, 
West's,  was  the  best  likeness.  I  did  not  tell  her  that 
West's  portrait  of  herself  was  excessively  flattered.  I 
am  sure  no  one  would  know  her,  from  the  engraving  at 
least.  Her  cheek-bones  are  high,  her  forehead  is  badly 
shaped,  and  altogether  the  frame  of  her  features  is 
164 


NATHANIEL  PAHKER  WILLIS 

decidedly  ugly.  She  dresses  in  the  worst  taste  too,  and 
yet  for  all  this,  and  poetry  and  celebrity  aside,  the 
countess  is  both  a  lovely  and  a  fascinating  woman,  and 
one  whom  a  man  of  sentiment  would  admire  at  this  age 
very  sincerely,  but  not  for  beauty/ 

The  cholera  frightened  Willis  away  fi'om  Paris  in 
April,  but  before  he  left,  the  United  States  minister, 
Mr.  Rives,  appointed  him  honorary  attache  to  his  own 
embassy,  a  great  social  advantage  to  the  young  man, 
who  was  thereby  enabled  to  obtain  the  entree  into  court 
circles  in  every  country  that  he  visited.  At  the  same 
time  the  appointment  somewhat  misled  his  numerous 
new  acquaintances  on  the  subject  of  his  social  position, 
while  the  '  spurious  *"  attacheship  afterwards  became  a 
weapon  in  the  hands  of  his  enemies.  However,  for  the 
time  being,  the  young  correspondent  thoroughly  enjoyed 
his  novel  experiences,  and  contrived  to  communicate  his 
enjoyment  to  his  readei*s.  His  letters  were  eagerly  i-ead 
by  his  countrymen,  and  are  said  to  have  been  copied  into 
no  less  than  five  hundred  newspapers.  He  eschewed  use- 
ful information,  gave  impressions  rather  than  statistics, 
and  was  fairly  successful  in  avoiding  the  style  of  the 
guide-book.  The  summer  and  autumn  of  1832  were  spent 
in  northern  Italy,  Florence  being  the  traveller'^s  head- 
quarters. He  had  letters  of  introduction  to  half  the 
Italian  nobility,  and  was  made  welcome  in  the  court 
circles  of  Tuscany.  In  the  autumn  he  was  flirting  at  the 
Baths  of  Lucca,  and  at  this  time  he  had  formed  a  project 
of  travelling  to  London  by  way  of  Switzerland. 

*  In  London,'  he  writes  to  his  sister,  *  I  mean  to  make 
arrangements  with  the  magazines,  and  then  live  abroad 
altogether.  It  costs  so  little  here,  and  one  lives  so 
luxuriously  too,  and  there  is  so  much  to  fill  one's  mind 

165 


NATHANIEL  I^AHKER  WILLIE 

and  eye,  that  I  think  of  returning  to  naked  America 
with  ever-increasing  repugnance.  I  love  my  country, 
but  the  ornamental  is  my  vocation,  and  of  this  she  has 
none."*  This  programme  was  changed,  and  Willis  spent 
the  winter  between  Rome,  Florence,  and  Venice.  Wher- 
ever he  went  he  made  friends,  but  his  progress  was  in 
itself  a  feat  of  diplomacy,  and  few  people  dreamt  that 
the  dashing  young  attache  depended  for  his  living  upon 
his  contributions  to  a  newspaper,  payment  for  which  did 
not  always  arrive  with  desirable  punctuality.  'I  have 
dined,"*  he  writes  to  his  mother,  '  with  a  prince  one  day, 
and  alone  in  a  cook-shop  the  next.'  He  explains  that 
he  can  live  on  about  sixty  pounds  a  year  at  Florence, 
paying  four  or  five  shillings  a  week  for  his  rooms,  break- 
fasting for  fourpence,  and  dining  quite  magnificently  for 
a  shilling. 

In  June  1833,  Willis  was  invited  by  the  officers  of  an 
American  frigate  to  accompany  them  on  a  six  months' 
cruise  in  the  Mediterranean.  This  was  far  too  good  an 
offer  to  be  refused,  since  it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  get  a  peep  at  the  East  under  more  ideal  conditions  of 
travel.  Willis's  letters  from  Greece  and  Turkey  are  among 
the  best  and  happiest  that  he  wrote,  for  the  weather  was 
perfect,  the  company  was  pleasant  (there  were  ladies  on 
board),  and  the  reception  they  met  with  wherever  they 
weighed  anchor  was  most  hospitable ;  while  the  Oriental 
mode  of  life  appealed  to  our  hero's  highly-coloured, 
romantic  taste.  In  the  island  of  ^Egina  he  was  introduced 
to  Byron's  Maid  of  Athens,  once  the  beautiful  Teresa 
Makri,  now  plain  Mrs.  Black,  with  an  ugly  little  boy, 
and  a  Scotch  terrier  that  snapped  at  the  traveller's 
heels.  He  describes  the  ci-devant  Maid  of  Athens  as 
a  handsome  woman,  with  a  clear  dark  skin,  and  a  nose 
166 


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NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

and  forehead  that  formed  the  straight  line  of  the  Greek 
model. 

*Her  eyes  are  large,**  he  continues,  'and  of  a  soft, 
liquid  hazel,  and  this  is  her  chief  beauty.  There  is  that 
looking  out  of  the  soul  through  them  which  Byron  always 
described  as  constituting  the  loveliness  that  most  moved 
him.  ,  .  .  We  met  her  as  simple  Mrs.  Black,  whose 
husband's  terrier  had  worried  us  at  the  door,  and  we 
left  her  feeling  that  the  poetry  she  called  forth  from 
the  heart  of  Byron  was  her  due  by  every  law  of  love- 
liness.'* 

By  this  time  the  fame  of  the  PendUings  had  reached 
London ;  and  at  Smyrna  Willis  found  a  letter  awaiting 
him  from  the  Momiii^  Herald^  which  contained  an  offer 
of  the  post  of  foreign  correspondent  at  a  salary  of  <jP200 
a  year.  But  as  his  letters  would  have  to  be  mainly 
political,  and  as  he  might  be  expected  to  act  as  war- 
correspondent,  which  was  scarcely  in  his  line,  he  decided 
to  refuse  the  offer.  On  leaving  the  frigate  he  loitered 
through  Italy,  Switzerland,  and  France  to  England, 
arriving  at  Dover  on  June  1,  1834.  While  at  Florence 
he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Walter  Savage  Landor, 
who  had  given  him  some  valuable  letters  of  introduc- 
tion to  people  in  England,  among  them  one  to  Lady 
Blessington.  Landor  also  put  into  Willis'*s  hands  a 
package  of  books,  whose  temporary  disappearance  through 
some  mismanagement  roused  the  formidable  wrath  of  the 
old  poet.  In  his  iMter  to  an  Author,  printed  at  the  end 
of  Pericles  and  Aspasia,  Landor  describes  the  transaction 
(which  related  to  an  American  edition  of  the  Imaginary 
Conversatiofis),  and  continues  : — 

*  I  regret  the  appearance  of  his  book  (the  PenciUingn 
by  the  Way)  more  than  the  disappearance  of  mine.  .  .  . 

167 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

My  letter  of  presentation  to  Lady  Blessington  threw 
open  (I  am  afraid)  too  many  folding-doors,  some  of 
which  have  been  left  rather  uncomfortably  ajar.  No 
doubt  his  celebrity  as  a  poet,  and  his  dignity  as  a 
diplomatist,  would  have  procured  him  all  those  distinc- 
tions in  society  which  he  allowed  so  humble  a  person  as 
myself  the  instrumentality  of  conferring.  Greatly  as  I 
have  been  flattered  by  the  visits  of  American  gentlemen, 
I  hope  that  for  the  future  no  penciller  of  similar  com- 
position will  deviate  in  my  favour  to  the  right  hand  of 
the  road  from  Florence  to  Fiesole."* 

The  end  of  this  storm  in  a  teacup  was  that  the  books, 
which  had  safely  arrived  in  New  York,  returned  as  safely 
to  London,  where  they  were  handed  over  to  their  rightful 
owner,  but  not  in  time,  as  Willis  complained,  to  keep 
him  from  going  down  to  posterity  astride  the  finis  to 
Pericles  and  Aspasia.  Long  afterwards  he  expressed 
his  hope  that  Landor's  biographers  would  either  let 
him  slip  off"  at  Lethe's  wharf,  or  else  do  him  justice  in 
a  note.  Before  this  unfortunate  incident,  Landor  and 
Willis  had  corresponded  on  cordial  terms.  The  old 
poet  wrote  to  say  how  much  he  envied  his  correspondent 
the  evenings  he  passed  in  the  society  of  '  the  most 
accomplished  and  graceful  of  all  our  fashionable  world, 
my  excellent  friend.  Lady  Blessington,"  while  the  American 
could  not  sufficiently  express  his  gratitude  for  the  intro- 
duction to  that  lady,  '  my  lodestar  and  most  valued 
friend,"*  as  he  called  her,  *for  whose  acquaintance  I  am 
so  much  indebted  to  you,  that  you  will  find  it  difficult  in 
your  lifetime  to  diminish  my  obligations.' 

Willis  seems  to  have  arrived  in  England  prepared  to 
like  everything  English,  and  he  began  by  falling  in  love 
with  the  Ship  Hotel  at  Dover,  '  with  its  bells  that  wcmld 
168 


I 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

ring,  doors  that  would  shut,  blazing  coal  fires  [on  June  1], 
and  its  landlady  who  spoke  English,  and  was  civil — a 
greater  contrast  to  the  Continent  could  hardly  be 
imagined."  The  next  morning  he  was  in  raptures  over 
the  coach  that  took  him  to  London,  with  its  light 
harness,  four  beautiful  bays,  and  dashing  coachman,  who 
discussed  the  Opera,  and  hummed  airs  from  the  Puritani. 
He  saw  a  hundred  charming  spots  on  the  road  that  he 
coveted  with  quite  a  heartache,  and  even  the  little 
houses  and  gardens  in  the  suburbs  pleased  his  taste 
— there  was  such  an  qffectionatetiess  in  the  outside  of 
every  one  of  them.  Regent  Street  he  declares  to  be  the 
finest  street  he  has  ever  seen,  and  he  exclaims,  *The 
Toledo  of  Naples,  the  Corso  of  Rome,  the  Rue  de  la 
JPaix,  and  the  Boulevards  of  Paris  are  really  nothing  to 
Regent  Street/ 

Willis  called  on  Lady  Blessington  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  day  after  his  arrival,  but  was  informed  that  her 
ladyship  was  not  yet  down  to  breakfast.  An  hour  later, 
however,  he  received  a  note  from  her  inviting  him  to  call 
the  same  evening  at  ten  o''clock.  She  was  then  living  at 
Seamore  House,  while  D''Orsay  had  lodgings  in  Curzon 
Street.  Willis  tells  us  that  he  found  a  very  beautiful 
woman  exquisitely  dressed,  who  looked  on  the  sunny  side 
of  thirty,  though  she  frankly  owned  to  forty,  and  was, 
in  fact,  forty-five.  Lady  Blessington  received  the  young 
American  very  cordially,  introduced  him  to  the  magni- 
ficent D'Orsay,  and  plunged  at  once  into  literary  talk. 
She  was  curious  to  know  the  degree  of  popularity 
enjoyed  by  English  authors  in  America,  more  especially 
by  Bulwer  and  Disraeli,  both  of  whom  she  promised 
that  he  should  meet  at  her  house. 

*  Disraeli  the  elder,'  she  said, '  came  here  with  his  son 

169 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

the  other  night.  It  would  have  delighted  you  to  see  the 
old  man's  pride  in  him.  As  he  was  going  away,  he  patted 
him  on  the  head,  and  said,  "Take  care  of  him,  Lady 
Blessington,  for  my  sake.  He  is  a  clever  lad,  but  wants 
ballast.  I  am  glad  he  has  the  honour  to  know  you,  for 
you  will  check  him  sometimes  when  I  am  away.  .  .  ."" 
DTsraeli  the  younger  is  quite  his  own  character  of  Vivian 
Grey,  crowded  with  talent,  but  very  soigne  of  his  curls, 
and  a  bit  of  a  coxcomb.  There  is  no  reverse  about  him, 
however,  and  he  is  the  only  joyous  dandy  I  ever  saw.** 
Then  the  conversation  turned  upon  Byron,  and  Willis 
asked  if  Lady  Blessington  had  known  La  Guiccioli. 
'  No ;  we  were  at  Pisa  when  they  were  together,'  she 
replied.  '  But  though  Lord  Blessington  had  the  greatest 
curiosity  to  see  her.  Lord  Byron  would  never  permit  it. 
"  She  has  a  red  head  of  her  own,"  said  he,  "  and  don't 
like  to  show  it."  Byron  treated  the  poor  creature 
dreadfully  ill.     She  feared  more  than  she  loved  him.' 

On  concluding  this  account  of  his  visit,  Willis  observes 
that  there  can  be  no  objection  to  his  publishing  such 
personal  descriptions  and  anecdotes  in  an  American 
periodical,  since  'the  English  just  know  of  our  exist- 
ence, and  if  they  get  an  idea  twice  a  year  of  our  progress 
in  politics,  they  are  comparatively  well  informed.  Our 
periodical  literature  is  never  even  heard  of.  I  mention 
this  fact  lest,  at  first  thought,  I  might  seem  to  have 
abused  the  hospitality  or  the  frankness  of  those  on 
whom  letters  of  introduction  have  given  me  claims  for 
civility.'  Alas,  poor  Willis!  He  little  thought  that 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  and  most  venomous  of 
British  critics  would  make  a  long  arm  across  the 
Atlantic,  and  hold  up  his  prattlings  to  ridicule  and 
condemnation. 
170 


I 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

The  following  evening  our  Penciller  met  a  distinguished 
company  at  Seamore  House,  the  two  Bulwers,  Edward 
and  Henry ;  James  Smith  of '  Rejected  Addresses'  fame ; 
Fonblanque,  the  editor  of  the  Examiner ;  and  the  young 
Due  de  Richelieu.  Of  Fonblanque,  Willis  observes :  '  I 
never  saw  a  worse  face,  sallow,  seamed,  and  hollow,  his 
teeth  irregular,  his  skin  livid,  his  straight  black  hair 
uncombed.  A  hollow,  croaking  voice,  and  a  small,  fiery 
black  eye,  with  a  smile  like  a  skeleton''s,  certainly  did 
not  improve  his  physiognomy.**  Fonblanque,  as  might 
have  been  anticipated,  did  not  at  all  appreciate  this 
description  of  his  personal  defects,  when  it  afterwards 
appeared  in  print.  Edward  Bulwer  was  quite  unlike 
what  Willis  had  expected.  '  He  is  short,"  he  writes, 
'very  much  bent,  slightly  knock-kneed,  and  as  ill- 
dressed  a  man  for  a  gentleman  as  you  will  find  in 
London.  .  .  .  He  has  a  retreating  forehead,  large 
aquiline  nose,  immense  red  whiskers,  and  a  mouth 
contradictory  of  all  talent.  A  more  good  -  natured, 
habitually  smiling,  nerveless  expression  could  hardly  be 
imagined."  Bulwer  seems  to  have  made  up  for  his  appear- 
ance by  his  high  spirits,  lover-like  voice,  and  delightful 
conversation,  some  of  which  our  Boswell  has  reported. 

'  Smith  asked  Bulwer  if  he  kept  an  amanuensis.  "  No,*" 
he  said,  "  I  scribble  it  all  out  myself,  and  send  it  to  the 
press  in  a  most  ungentlemanlike  hand,  half  print,  half 
hieroglyphics,  with  all  its  imperfections  on  its  head,  and 
correct  in  the  proof — very  much  to  the  dissatisfaction  of 
the  publisher,  who  sends  me  in  a  bill  of  X^16,  6s.  4d.  for 
extra  corrections.  Then  I  am  free  to  confess  I  don't 
know  grammar.  Lady  Blessington,  do  you  know 
grammar?  There  never  was  such  a  thing  heard  of 
before   Lindley  Murray.     I  wonder  what  they  did  for 

171 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

grammar  before  his  day  !  Oh,  the  delicious  blunders 
one  sees  when  they  are  irretrievable  !  And  the  best  of 
it  is  the  critics  never  get  hold  of  them.  Thank  Heaven 
for  second  editions,  that  one  may  scratch  out  one's  blots, 
and  go  down  clean  and  gentlemanlike  to  posterity/' 
Smith  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  reviewed  one  of  his 
own  books.  "  No,  but  I  could !  And  then  how  I 
should  like  to  recriminate,  and  defend  myself  indig- 
nantly !  I  think  I  could  be  preciously  severe.  Depend 
upon  it,  nobody  knows  a  book's  faults  so  well  as  its 
author,  I  have  a  great  idea  of  criticising  my  books  for 
my  posthumous  memoirs.  Shall  I,  Smith?  Shall  I, 
Lady  Blessington  ?  " ' 

Willis  fell  into  conversation  with  the  good-natured, 
though  gouty  James  Smith,  who  talked  to  him  of 
America,  and  declared  that  there  never  was  so  delight- 
ful a  fellow  as  Washington  Irving.  'I  was  once,'  he 
said,  '  taken  down  with  him  into  the  country  by  a  mer- 
chant to  dinner.  Our  friend  stopped  his  carriage  at  the 
gate  of  his  park,  and  asked  if  we  would  walk  through 
the  grounds  to  the  house.  Irving  refused,  and  held  me 
down  by  the  coat-tails,  so  that  we  drove  on  to  the  house 
together,  leaving  our  host  to  follow  on  foot.  "  I  make  it 
a  principle,"  said  Irving,  "never  to  walk  with  a  man 
through  his  own  grounds.  I  have  no  idea  of  praising  a 
thing  whether  I  like  it  or  not.  You  and  I  will  do  them 
to-morrow  by  ourselves."'  'The  Rejected  Addresses,' 
continues  Willis,  '  got  on  his  crutches  about  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  I  made  my  exit  with  the  rest,  thank- 
ing Heaven  that,  though  in  a  strange  country,  my  mother- 
tongue  was  the  language  of  its  men  of  genius.' 

One  of  the  most  interesting  passages  in  the  Pencillmgs 
is  that  in  which  Willis  describes  a  breakfast  at  Crabb 
172 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

Robinson's  chambers  in  the  Temple,  where  he  met 
Charles  and  Mary  Lamb,  a  privilege  which  he  seems 
thoroughly  to  have  appreciated.  *  I  never  in  my  life,' 
he  declares,  *  had  an  invitation  more  to  my  taste.  The 
Essays  of  Elia  are  certainly  the  most  charming  things 
in  the  world,  and  it  has  been,  for  the  last  ten  years,  my 
highest  compliment  to  the  literary  taste  of  a  friend  to 
present  him  with  a  copy.  ...  I  arrived  half  an  hour 
before  Lamb,  and  had  time  to  learn  something  of  his 
peculiarities.  Some  family  circumstances  have  tended 
to  depress  him  of  late  years,  and  unless  excited  by 
convivial  intercourse,  he  never  shows  a  trace  of  what 
he  once  was.  He  is  excessively  given  to  mystifying 
his  friends,  and  is  never  so  delighted  as  when  he  has 
persuaded  some  one  into  a  belief  in  one  of  his  grave 
inventions.  .  .  .  There  was  a  rap  at  the  door  at  last, 
and  enter  a  gentleman  in  black  small  -  clothes  and 
gaiters,  short  and  very  slight  in  his  person,  his  hair 
just  sprinkled  with  grey,  a  beautiful,  deep-set,  grey  eye, 
aquiline  nose,  and  a  very  indescribable  mouth.  His 
sister,  whose  literary  reputation  is  very  closely  associated 
with  her  brother^  came  in  after  him.  She  is  a  small, 
bent  figure,  evidently  a  victim  to  ill-health,  and  hears 
with  difficulty.  Her  face  has  been,  I  should  think,  a 
fine,  handsome  one,  and  her  bright  grey  eye  is  still  full 
of  intelligence  and  fire.  .  .  . 

*  I  had  set  a  large  arm-chair  for  Miss  Lamb.  "  Don't 
take  it,  Mary,"  said  Lamb,  pulling  it  away  from  her  very 
gravely.  '  It  looks  as  if  you  were  going  to  have  a  tooth 
drawn.''  The  conversation  was  very  local,  but  perhaps 
in  this  way  I  saw  more  of  the  author,  for  his  manner  of 
speaking  of  their  mutual  friends,  and  the  quaint  humour 
with  which  he  complained   of  one,  and  spoke  well  of 

178 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

another,  was  so  completely  in  the  vein  of  his  inimitable 
writings,  that  I  could  have  fancied  myself  listening  to  an 
audible  composition  of  new  Elia.  Nothing  could  be  more 
delightful  than  the  kindness  and  affection  between  the 
brother  and  sister,  though  Lamb  was  continually  taking 
advantage  of  her  deafness  to  mystify  her  on  every  topic 
that  was  started.  "  Poor  Mary,''  he  said,  "  she  hears  all 
of  an  epigram  but  the  point."  "  What  are  you  saying  of 
me,  Charles  ?"  she  asked.  "  Mr.  Willis,"  said  he,  raising 
his  voice,  "  admires  your  Confessions  of  a  Drunkard  very 
much,  and  I  was  saying  that  it  was  no  merit  of  yours 
that  you  understood  the  subject." 

'The  conversation  presently  turned  upon  literary 
topics,  and  Lamb  observed :  "  I  don't  know  much  of 
your  American  authors.  Mary,  there,  devours  Cooper's 
novels  with  a  ravenous  appetite  with  which  I  have  no 
sympathy.  The  only  American  book  I  ever  read  twice 
was  the  Journal  of  Edward  Woolman,  a  Quaker  preacher 
and  tinker,  whose  character  is  one  of  the  finest  I  ever  met. 
He  tells  a  story  or  two  about  negro  slaves  that  brought 
the  tears  into  my  eyes.  I  can  read  no  prose  now,  though 
Hazlitt  sometimes,  to  be  sure — but  then  Hazlitt  is  worth 
all  the  modern  prose- writers  put  together."  I  mentioned 
having  bought  a  copy  of  Elia  the  last  day  I  was  in 
America,  to  send  as  a  parting  gift  to  one  of  the  most 
lovely  and  talented  women  in  the  country.  "  What  did 
you  give  for  it  ? "  asked  Lamb.  "  About  seven-and-six." 
"  Permit  me  to  pay  you  that,"  said  he,  and  with  the 
utmost  earnestness  he  counted  the  money  out  on  the 
table.  "  I  never  yet  wrote  anything  that  would  sell,"  he 
continued.  "  I  am  the  publisher's  ruin.  My  last  poem 
won't  sell  a  copy.  Have  you  seen  it,  Mr.  Willis  ? "  I 
had  not.  "  It  is  only  eighteenpence,  and  I  '11  give  you 
174 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

sixpence  towards  it,''  and  he  described  to  me  where  I 
should  find  it  sticking  up  in  a  shop- window  in  the  Strand. 

'Lamb  ate  nothing,  and  complained  in  a  querulous 
tone  of  the  veal  pie.  There  was  a  kind  of  potted  fish, 
which  he  had  expected  that  our  friend  would  procure 
for  him.  He  inquired  whether  there  was  not  a  morsel 
left  in  the  bottom  of  the  last  pot.  Mr.  Robinson  was 
not  sure.  "Send  and  see,""  said  Lamb,  "and  if  the  pot  has 
been  cleaned,  bring  me  the  lid.  I  think  the  sight  of  it 
would  do  me  good.*"  The  cover  was  brought,  upon  which 
there  was  a  picture  of  the  fish.  Lamb  kissed  it  with  a 
reproachful  look  at  his  friend,  and  then  left  the  table  and 
began  to  wander  round  the  room  with  a  broken,  uncer- 
tain step,  as  if  he  almost  forgot  to  put  one  leg  before 
the  other.  His  sister  rose  after  a  while,  and  commenced 
walking  up  and  down  in  the  same  manner  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table,  and  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  they 
took  their  leave.'  Landor,  in  commenting  on  this  pas- 
sage, says  it  is  evident  that  Willis  '  fidgeted  the  Lambs,' 
and  seems  rather  unaccountably  annoyed  at  his  having 
alluded  to  Crabb  Robinson  simply  as  '  a  barrister.' 

In  London  Willis  appears  to  have  fallen  upon  his  feet 
from  the  very  first.  To  the  end  of  his  life  he  looked 
back  upon  his  first  two  years  in  England  as  the  happiest 
and  most  successful  period  in  his  whole  career.  It  was 
small  wonder  that  he  became  a  little  dazzled  and  intoxi- 
cated by  the  brilliancy  of  his  surroundings,  which  spoilt 
him  for  the  homelier  conditions  of  American  life.  *  What 
a  star  is  mine,'  he  wrote  to  his  sister  Julia,  three  days 
after  landing  at  Dover.  *  All  the  best  society  of  London 
exclusives  is  now  open  to  me — me  !  without  a  sou  in  mj 
pocket  beyond  what  my  pen  brings  me,  and  with  not 
only  no  influence  from  friends  at  home,  but  with  a  world 

176 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

of  envy  and  slander  at  my  back.  ...  In  a  literary  way  I 
have  already  had  offers  from  the  Court  Magazine^the  Metro- 
politan, and  the  New  Monthly,  of  the  first  price  for  my 
articles.  I  sent  a  short  tale,  written  in  one  day,  to  the  Court 
Magazine,  and  they  gave  me  eight  guineas  for  it  at  once. 
I  lodge  in  Cavendish  Square,  the  most  fashionable  part  of 
the  town,  paying  a  guinea  a  week  for  my  lodgings,  and 
am  as  well  off  as  if  I  had  been  the  son  of  the  President.^ 

Willis  was  constantly  at  Lady  Blessington's  house, 
where  he  met  some  of  the  best  masculine  society  of  the 
day.  At  one  dinner-party  among  his  fellow-guests  were 
D'Israeli,  Bulwer,  Procter  (Barry  Cornwall),  Lord 
Durham,  and  Sir  Martin  Shee.  It  was  his  first  sight  of 
Dizzy,  whom  he  found  looking  out  of  the  window  with 
the  last  rays  of  sunlight  reflected  on  the  gorgeous  gold 
flowers  of  an  embroidered  waistcoat.  A  white  stick  with 
a  black  cord  and  tassel,  and  a  quantity  of  chains  about 
his  neck  and  pocket,  rendered  him  rather  a  conspicuous 
object.  'D'Israeli,'  says  our  chronicler,  'has  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  faces  I  ever  saw.  He  is  vividly  pale, 
and  but  for  the  energy  of  his  action  and  the  strength  of 
his  lungs,  would  seem  a  victim  to  consumption.  His  eye 
is  as  black  as  Erebus,  and  has  the  most  mocking,  lying- 
in-wait  expression  conceivable.  His  mouth  is  alive  with 
a  kind  of  impatient  nervousness,  and  when  he  has  burst 
forth  with  a  particularly  successful  cataract  of  expression, 
it  assumes  a  curl  of  triumphant  scorn  that  would  be 
worthy  of  Mephistopheles.  A  thick,  heavy  mass  of 
jet-black  ringlets  falls  over  his  left  cheek  almost  to  his 
collarless  stock,  while  on  the  right  temple  it  is  parted  and 
put  away  with  the  smooth  carefulness  of  a  girl's,  and 
shines  most  unctuously  with  "thy  incomparable  oil. 
Macassar."" '  Willis  was  always  interested  in  dress, 
176 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

being  himself  a  bom  dandy,  and  he  was  inclined  to  judge 
a  man  by  the  cut  of  his  coat  and  the  set  of  his  hat.  On 
this  occasion  he  remarks  that  Bulwer  was  very  badly 
dressed  as  usual,  while  Count  DX^rsay  was  very  splendid, 
but  quite  indefinable.  'He  seemed  showily  dressed  till 
you  looked  to  particulars,  and  then  it  seemed  only  a 
simple  thing  well  fitted  to  a  very  magnificent  person."* 

The  conversation  ran  at  first  on  Sir  Henry  Taylor^s 
new  play,  Philip  van  Artevelde^  which  the  company 
thought  overrated,  and  then  passed  to  Beckford,  of  Vathek 
fame,  who  had  already  retired  from  the  world,  and  was 
living  at  Bath  in  his  usual  eccentric  fashion.  Dizzy  was 
the  only  person  present  who  had  met  him,  and,  declares 
Willis,  '  I  might  as  well  attempt  to  gather  up  the  foam 
of  the  sea  as  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  extraordinary 
language  in  which  he  clothed  his  description.  There 
were  at  least  five  words  in  every  sentence  which  must 
have  been  very  much  astonished  at  the  use  to  which  they 
were  put,  and  yet  no  others  apparently  could  so  well  have 
conveyed  his  idea.  He  talked  like  a  racehorse  approach- 
ing the  winning-post,  every  muscle  in  action,  and  the 
utmost  energy  of  expression  flowing  out  in  every  burst. 
It  is  a  great  pity  he  is  not  in  Parliament. "* 

At  midnight  Lady  Blessington  left  the  table,  when  the 
conversation  took  a  political  turn,  but  D'lsraeli  soon 
dashed  oft'  again  with  a  story  of  an  Irish  dragoon  who 
was  killed  in  the  Peninsular.  '  His  aim  was  shot  off*,  and 
he  was  bleeding  to  death.  When  told  he  could  not  live, 
he  called  for  a  large  silver  goblet,  out  of  which  he  usually 
drank  his  claret.  He  held  it  to  the  gushing  artery,  and 
filled  it  to  the  brim,  then  poured  it  slowly  out  upon  the 
ground,  saying,  "  If  that  had  iK^en  shed  for  old  Ireland.*" 
You  can  have  no  idea  how  thrillingly  this  little  story  was 
M  177 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

told.  Fonblanque,  however,  who  is  a  cold  political 
satirist,  could  see  nothing  in  a  man's  "decanting  his 
claret "  that  was  in  the  least  sublime,  so  "  Vivian  Grey "" 
got  into  a  passion,  and  for  a  while  was  silent."* 

Willis  was  now  fairly  launched  in  London  society, 
literary  and  fashionable.  He  went  to  the  Opera  to  hear 
Grisi,  then  young  and  pretty,  and  Lady  Blessington 
pointed  out  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Norton,  looking  like  a 
queen,  and  Lord  Brougham  flirting  desperately  with  a 
lovely  woman,  '  his  mouth  going  with  the  convulsive 
twitch  that  so  disfigures  him,  and  his  most  unsightly  of 
pug-noses  in  the  strongest  relief  against  the  red  lining  of 
the  box."  He  breakfasted  with  '  Barry  Cornwall,'  whose 
poetry  he  greatly  admired,  and  was  introduced  to  the 
charming  Mrs.  Procter  and  the  '  yellow-tressed  Adelaide,"* 
then  only  eight  or  nine  years  old.  Procter  gave  his 
visitor  a  volume  of  his  own  poems,  and  told  him  anecdotes 
of  the  various  authors  he  had  known,  Hazlitt,  Lamb, 
Keats,  and  Shelley.  Another  interesting  entertainment 
was  an  evening  party  at  Edward  Bulwer's  house.  Willis 
arrived  at  eleven,  and  found  his  hostess  alone,  playing 
with  a  King  Charles"*  spaniel,  while  she  awaited  her  guests. 

'  The  author  of  PelJiam^  he  writes,  '  is  a  younger  son, 
and  depends  on  his  writings  for  a  livelihood ;  and  truly, 
measuring  works  of  fancy  by  what  they  will  bring,  a 
glance  round  his  luxurious  rooms  is  worth  reams  of  puffs 
in  the  Quarterlies.  He  lives  in  the  heart  of  fashionable 
London,  entertains  a  great  deal,  and  is  expensive  in  all 
his  habits,  and  for  this  pay  Messrs.  Clifford,  Pelham,  and 
Aram — most  excellent  bankers.  As  I  looked  at  the 
beautiful  woman  before  me,  waiting  to  receive  the  rank 
and  fashion  of  London,  I  thought  that  close-fisted  old 
literature  never  had  better  reason  for  his  partial  largess."* 
178 


I 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

Willis  was  astonished  at  the  neglect  with  which  the 
female  portion  of  the  assemblage  was  treated,  no  young 
man  ever  speaking  to  a  young  lady  except  to  ask  her  to 
dance.  'There  they  sit  with  their  mammas,**  he  observes, 
'  their  hands  before  them  in  the  received  attitude ;  and  if 
there  happens  to  be  no  dancing,  looking  at  a  print,  or 
eating  an  ice,  is  for  them  the  most  entertaining  circum- 
stance of  the  evening.  Late  in  the  evening  a  charming 
girl,  who  is  the  reigning  belle  of  Naples,  came  in  with  her 
mother  from  the  Opera,  and  I  made  this  same  remark  to 
her.  "  I  detest  England  for  that  very  reason,"^  she  said 
frankly.  "  It  is  the  fashion  in  London  for  young  men  to 
prefer  everything  to  the  society  of  women.  They  have 
their  clubs,  their  horses,  their  rowing  matches,  their 
hunting,  and  everything  else  is  a  bore !  How  different 
are  the  same  men  at  Naples !  They  can  never  get  enough 
of  one  there.*"  .  .  .  She  mentioned  several  of  the  beaux 
of  last  winter  who  had  returned  to  England.  "Here 
have  I  been  in  London  a  month,  and  these  very  men  who 
were  at  my  side  all  day  on  the  Strada  Nuova,  and  all 
but  fighting  to  dance  three  times  with  me  of  an  evening, 
have  only  left  their  cards.  Not  because  they  care  less 
about  me,  but  because  it  is  not  the  fashion — it  would 
be  talked  about  at  the  clubs;  it  is  knowing  to  let  us 
alone."" " 

There  were  only  three  men  at  the  party,  according  to 
Willis,  who  could  come  under  the  head  of  beaux^  but  there 
were  many  distinguished  persons.  There  was  Byron^s 
sister,  Mrs.  Leigh,  a  thin,  plain,  middle-aged  woman,  of 
a  serious  countenance,  but  with  very  cordial,  pleasing 
manners.  Sheil,  the  famous  Irish  orator,  small,  dark, 
deceitful,  and  talented-looking,  with  a  squeaky  voice,  was 
to  be  seen  in  earnest  conversation  with  the  courtly  old 

179 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

Lord  Clarendon.  Fonblanque,  with  his  pale,  dislocated- 
looking  face,  was  making  the  amiable,  with  a  ghastly 
smile,  to  Lady  Stepney,  author  of  The  Road  to  Ruin  and 
other  fashionable  novels.  The  bilious  Lord  Durham, 
with  his  Brutus  head  and  severe  countenance,  high-bred 
in  appearance  in  spite  of  the  worst  possible  coat  and 
trousers,  was  talking  politics  with  Bowring.  Prince 
Moscowa,  son  of  Marshal  Ney,  a  plain,  determined- 
looking  young  man,  was  unconscious  of  everything  but  the 
presence  of  the  lovely  Mrs.  Leicester  Stanhope.  Her 
husband,  afterwards  Sir  Leicester,  who  had  been  Byron's 
companion  in  Greece,  was  introduced  to  Willis,  and  the 
two  soon  became  on  intimate  terms. 

In  the  course  of  the  season  Willis  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Miss  Mitford,  who  invited  him  to  spend  a  week 
with  her  at  her  cottage  near  Reading.  In  a  letter  to  her 
friend.  Miss  Jephson,  Miss  Mitford  says  :  M  also  like  very 
much  Mr.  Willis,  an  American  author,  who  is  now  under- 
stood to  be  here  to  publish  his  account  of  England.  He 
is  a  very  elegant  young  man,  more  like  one  of  the  best 
of  our  peers'  sons  than  a  rough  republican.'  The  admira- 
tion was  apparently  mutual,  for  Willis,  in  a  letter  to  the 
author  of  Our  Village^  says  :  '  You  are  distinguished  in  the 
world  as  the  "  gentlewoman  "  among  authoresses,  as  you 
are  for  your  rank  merely  in  literature.  I  have  often 
thought  you  very  enviable  for  the  universality  of  that 
opinion  about  you.  You  share  it  with  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
who  was  in  his  day  the  gentleman  among  authors.  I  look 
with  great  interest  for  your  new  tragedy.  I  think  your 
mind  is  essentially  dramatic;  and  in  that,  in  our  time, 
you  are  alone.  I  know  no  one  else  who  could  have 
written  Rienzi,  and  I  felt  Charles  I.  to  my  fingers'  ends, 
as  one  feels  no  other  modern  play.' 
180 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

Willis  was  less  happy  in  his  relations  with  Harriet 
Martineau,  to  whom  he  was  introduced  just  before 
her  departure  for  America.  'While  I  was  preparing 
for  my  travels,'  she  writes,  in  her  own  account  of  the 
interview,  '  an  acquaintance  brought  a  buxom  gentle- 
man, whom  he  introduced  under  the  name  of  Willis. 
There  was  something  rather  engaging  in  the  round 
face,  brisk  air,  and  enjouement  of  the  young  man  ; 
but  his  conscious  dandyism  and  unparalleled  self-com- 
placency spoiled  the  satisfaction,  though  they  increased 
the  inclination  to  laugh.  .  .  .  He  whipped  his  bright 
little  boot  with  his  bright  little  cane,  while  he  ran  over 
the  names  of  all  his  distinguished  fellow-countrymen, 
and  declared  that  he  would  send  me  letters  to  them  all.'' 
Miss  Martineau  further  relates  that  the  few  letters  she 
presented  met  with  a  very  indifferent  reception.  Her 
indignation  increased  when  she  found  that  in  his  private 
correspondence  Willis  had  given  the  impression  that  she 
was  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends.  In  his  own 
account  of  the  interview  he  merely  says:  'I  was  taken 
by  the  clever  translator  of  Faust  to  see  the  celebrated 
Miss  Martineau.  She  has  perhaps  at  this  moment  the 
most  general  and  enviable  reputation  in  England,  and 
is  the  only  one  of  the  literary  clique  whose  name  is 
mentioned  without  some  envious  qualification.'* 

A  budget  of  literary  news  sent  to  the  Mirror  includes 
such  items  as  that '  Disraeli  is  driving  about  in  an  open 
carriage  with  Lady  S.,  looking  more  melancholy  than 
usual.  The  absent  baronet,  whose  place  he  fills,  is  about 
to  bring  an  action  against  him,  which  will  finish  his 
career,  unless  he  can  coin  the  damages  in  his  brain. 
Mrs.  Hemans  is  dying  of  consumption  in  Ireland.  I  have 
been  passing  a  week  at  a  country-house,  where  Miss  Jane 

181 


NATHAxMEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

Porter  [author  of  Scottish  Chiefs^  and  Miss  Pardoe 
[author  of  Beauties  of  the  Bosphonis]  were  staying.  Miss 
Porter  is  one  of  her  own  heroines  grown  old,  a  still  noble 
wreck  of  beauty.  .  .  .  Dined  last  week  with  Joanna 
Baillie  at  Hampstead — the  most  charming  old  lady  I 
ever  saw.  To-day  I  dine  with  Longman,  to  meet  Tom 
Moore,  who  is  living  incog,  near  this  Nestor  of  publishers, 
and  pegging  hard  at  his  Historij  of  Ireland.  .  .  .  Lady 
Blessington''s  new  book  makes  a  great  noise.  Living  as 
she  does  twelve  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  brilliant  and  intellectually  exhausting  circle 
in  London,  I  only  wonder  how  she  found  time  to  write  it. 
Yet  it  was  written  in  six  weeks !  Her  novels  sell  for  a 
hundred  pounds  more  than  any  other  author's,  except 
Bulwer's.  Bulwer  gets  d^l400  ;  Lady  Blessington,  =£^400 ; 
Mrs.  Norton,  .^250 ;  LadyCharlotte  Bury,  £9,00 ;  Grattan, 
£2>00 ;  and  most  other  authors  below  this.  Captain 
Marryat's  gross  trash  sells  immensely  about  Wapping  and 
Portsmouth,  and  brings  him  in  =^500  or  ^600  the  book — 
but  that  can  scarce  be  called  literature.  D'Israeli  cannot 
sell  a  book  at  all,  I  hear.  Is  not  that  odd  ?  I  would 
give  more  for  one  of  his  books  than  for  forty  of  the 
common  saleable  things  about  town." 

One  more  description  of  a  literary  dinner  at  Lady 
Blessington''s  may  be  quoted  before  Willis''s  account  of 
this,  his  first  and  most  memorable  London  season,  is 
brought  to  an  end.  Among  the  company  on  this  occasion 
were  Moore,  DTsraeli,  and  Dr.  Beattie,  the  King's  phy- 
sician, who  was  himself  a  poet.  Moore  had  been  rural- 
ising  for  a  year  at  Slopperton  Cottage,  and,  before  his 
arrival,  D'lsraeli  expressed  his  regret  that  he  should  have 
been  met  on  his  return  to  town  with  a  savage  article  in 
Fraser  on  his  supposed  plagiarisms.  Lady  Blessington 
182 


I 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

declared  that  he  would  never  see  it,  since  he  guarded 
himself  against  the  sight  and  knowledge  of  criticism  as 
other  people  guarded  against  the  plague.  Some  one 
remarked  on  Moore's  passion  for  rank.  '  He  was  sure  to 
have  five  or  six  invitations  to  dine  on  the  same  day,'  it 
was  said,  'and  he  tormented  himself  with  the  idea  that 
he  had  perhaps  not  accepted  the  most  exclusive.  He 
would  get  off  from  an  engagement  with  a  countess  to 
dine  with  a  marchioness,  and  from  a  marchioness  to 
accept  the  invitation  of  a  duchess.  As  he  cared  little 
for  the  society  of  men,  and  would  sing  and  be  delight- 
ful only  for  the  applause  of  women,  it  mattered  little 
whether  one  circle  was  more  talented  than  another.** 

At  length  Mr.  Moore  was  announced,  and  the  poet, 
'  sliding  his  little  feet  up  to  Lady  Blessington,  made  his 
compliments  with  an  ease  and  gaiety,  combined  with  a 
kind  of  worshipping  deference,  that  were  worthy  of  a 
prime  minister  at  the  Court  of  Love.  .  .  .  His  eyes  still 
sparkle  like  a  champagne  bubble,  though  the  invader  has 
drawn  his  pencillings  about  the  comers ;  and  there  is  a 
kind  of  wintry  red  that  seems  enamelled  on  his  cheek,  the 
eloquent  record  of  the  claret  his  wit  has  brightened. 
His  mouth  is  the  most  characteristic  feature  of  all.  The 
lips  are  delicately  cut,  and  as  changeable  as  an  aspen ; 
but  there  is  a  set-up  look  about  the  lower  lip — a  deter- 
mination of  the  muscle  to  a  particular  expression,  and 
you  fancy  that  you  can  see  wit  astride  upon  it.  It  is 
arch,  confident,  and  half  diffident,  as  if  he  were  disguising 
his  pleasure  at  applause,  while  another  bright  gleam  of 
fancy  was  breaking  upon  him.  The  slightly  tossed  nose 
confirms  the  fun  of  his  expression,  and  altogether  it  is  a 
face  that  sparkles,  beams,  and  radiates.^ 

The  conversation  at  dinner  that  night  was  the  most 

188 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

brilliant  that  the  American  had  yet  heard  in  London. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  was  the  first  subject  of  discussion,  Lady 
Blessington  having  j  ust  received  from  Sir  William  Gell 
the  manuscript  of  a  volume  on  the  last  days  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  a  melancholy  chronicle  of  ruined  health  and  weak- 
ened intellect,  which  was  afterwards  suppressed.  Moore 
then  described  a  visit  he  had  paid  to  Abbot sford,  when 
his  host  was  in  his  prime.  '  Scott,'  he  said,  '  was  the 
most  manly  and  natural  character  in  the  world.  His 
hospitality  was  free  and  open  as  the  day  ;  he  lived  freely 
himself,  and  expected  his  guests  to  do  the  same.  .  .  .  He 
never  ate  or  drank  to  excess,  but  he  had  no  system ;  his 
constitution  was  Herculean,  and  he  denied  himself 
nothing.  I  went  once  from  a  dinner-party  at  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence's  to  meet  Scott  at  another  house.  We  had 
hardly  entered  the  room  when  we  were  set  down  to  a  hot 
supper  of  roast  chicken,  salmon,  punch,  etc.,  and  Sir 
Walter  ate  immensely  of  everything.  What  a  contrast 
between  this  and  the  last  time  I  saw  him  in  London  !  He 
had  come  to  embark  for  Italy,  quite  broken  down  both 
in  mind  and  body.  He  gave  Mrs.  Moore  a  book,  and  I 
asked  him  if  he  would  make  it  more  valuable  by  writing 
in  it.  He  thought  I  meant  that  he  should  write  some 
verses,  and  said,  "I  never  write  poetry  now."  I  asked 
him  to  write  only  his  name  and  hers,  and  he  attempted 
it,  but  it  was  quite  illegible.' 

O'Connell  next  became  the  topic  of  conversation,  and 
Moore  declared  that  he  would  be  irresistible  if  it  were 
not  for  two  blots  on  his  character,  viz.  the  contributions 
in  Ireland  for  his  support,  and  his  refusal  to  give  satis- 
faction to  the  man  he  was  willing  to  attack.  '  They  may 
say  what  they  will  of  duelling,'  he  continued,  *  but  it  is 
the  great  preserver  of  the  decencies  of  society.  The  old 
184 


I 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

school  which  made  a  man  responsible  for  his  words  was 
the  better.'  Moore  related  how  O'Connell  had  accepted 
Peers  challenge,  and  then  delayed  a  meeting  on  the 
ground  of  his  wife's  illness,  till  the  law  interfered. 
Another  Irish  patriot  refused  a  meeting  on  account  of 
the  illness  of  his  daughter,  whereupon  a  Dublin  wit  com- 
posed the  following  epigram  upon  the  two  : — 

'  Some  men  with  a  horror  of  slaughter. 
Improve  on  the  Scripture  command. 
And  honour  their — wife  and  their  daughter — 
That  their  days  may  be  long  in  the  land.' 

Alluding  to  Grattan's  dying  advice  to  his  son,  *  Always 
be  ready  with  the  pistol,'  Moore  asked,  '  Is  it  not  wonder- 
ful that,  with  all  the  agitation  in  Ireland,  we  have  had 
no  such  men  since  his  time  ?  The  whole  country  in  con- 
vulsion— people's  lives,  fortune,  religion  at  stake,  and 
not  a  gleam  of  talent  from  one's  year's  end  to  another. 
It  is  natural  for  sparks  to  be  struck  out  in  a  time  of 
violence  like  this — but  Ireland,  for  all  that  is  worth 
living  for,  is  dead !  You  can  scarcely  reckon  Sheil  of  the 
calibre  of  the  spirits  of  old,  and  O'Connell,  with  all  his 
faults,  stands  alone  in  his  glory.' 

In  the  drawing-room,  after  dinner,  some  allusion  to  the 
later  Platonists  caused  D'Israeli  to  flare  up.  His  wild 
black  eyes  glistened,  and  his  nervous  lips  poured  out 
eloquence,  while  a  whole  ottomanful  of  noble  exquisites 
listened  in  amazement.  He  gave  an  account  of  Thomas 
Taylor,  one  of  the  last  of  the  Platonists,  who  had  wor- 
shipped Jupiter  in  a  back-parlour  in  London  a  few  years 
before.  In  his  old  age  he  was  turned  out  of  his  lodgings, 
for  attempting,  as  he  said,  to  worship  his  gods  according 
to  the  dictates  of  his   conscience,  his  landlady  having 

186 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

objected  to  his  sacrificing  a  bull  to  Jupiter  in  her  parlour. 
The  company  laughed  at  this  story  as  a  good  inven- 
tion, but  Dizzy  assured  them  it  was  literally  true,  and 
gave  his  father  as  his  authority.  Meanwhile  Moore 
'  went  glittering  on '  with  criticisms  upon  Grisi  and  the 
Opera,  and  the  subject  of  music  being  thus  introduced, 
he  was  led,  with  great  difficulty,  to  the  piano.  Willis 
describes  his  singing  as  '  a  kind  of  admirable  recitative, 
in  which  every  shade  of  thought  is  syllabled  and  dwelt 
upon,  and  the  sentiment  of  the  song  goes  through  your 
blood,  warming  you  to  the  very  eyelids,  and  starting  your 
tears  if  you  have  a  soul  or  sense  in  you.  I  have  heard  of 
women  fainting  at  a  song  of  Moore's  ;  and  if  the  burden 
of  it  answered  by  chance  to  a  secret  in  the  bosom  of  the 
listener,  I  should  think  that  the  heart  would  break  with 
it.  After  two  or  three  songs  of  Lady  Blessington's 
choice,  he  rambled  over  the  keys  a  while,  and  then  sang 
'When  first  I  met  thee'  with  a  pathos  that  beggars 
description.  When  the  last  word  had  faltered  out,  he 
rose  and  took  Lady  Blessington's  hand,  said  Good-night, 
and  was  gone  before  a  word  was  uttered.  For  a  full 
minute  after  he  closed  the  door  no  one  spoke.  I  could 
have  wished  for  myself  to  drop  silently  asleep  where  I 
sat,  with  the  tears  in  my  eyes  and  the  softness  upon  my 
heart.  "* 


PART   II 

Having  received  invitations  to  stav  with  Lord  Dalhousie 
and  the  Duke  of  Gordon,  Willis  went  north  at  the  begin- 
186 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

ning  of  September,  1834.  The  nominal  attraction  of 
Scotland  he  found,  rather  to  his  dismay,  was  the  shooting. 
The  guest,  he  observes,  on  arriving  at  a  country-house,  is 
asked  whether  he  prefers  a  flint  or  a  percussion  lock,  and 
a  double-barrelled  Manton  is  put  into  his  hands ;  while 
after  breakfast  the  ladies  leave  the  table,  wishing  him 
good  sport.  '  I  would  rather  have  gone  to  the  library,' 
says  the  Penciller.  '  An  aversion  to  walking,  except 
upon  smooth  flag-stones,  a  poetical  tenderness  on  the 
subject  of  putting  birds  "  out  of  their  misery,*"  and  hands 
much  more  at  home  with  the  goose-quill  than  the  gun, 
were  some  of  my  private  objections  to  the  order  of  the 
day.'  At  Dalhousie,  the  son  of  the  house.  Lord  Ramsay, 
and  his  American  visitor  were  mutually  astonished  at 
each  other's  appearance  when  they  met  in  the  park, 
prepared  for  a  morning's  sport. 

'  From  the  elegant  Oxonian  I  had  seen  at  breakfast,' 
writes  Willis,  '  he  (Lord  Ramsay)  was  transformed  into 
a  figure  something  rougher  than  his  Highland  dependant, 
in  a  woollen  shooting-jacket,  pockets  of  any  number  and 
capacity,  trousers  of  the  coarsest  plaid,  hobnailed  shoes 
and  leather  gaiters,  and  a  habit  of  handling  his  gun  that 
would  have  been  respected  on  the  Mississippi.  My  own 
appearance  in  high-heeled  French  boots  and  other  corre- 
sponding gear,  for  a  tramp  over  stubble  and  marsh, 
amused  him  equally;  but  my  wardrobe  was  exclusively 
metropolitan,  and  there  was  no  alternative.'  It  was  hard 
and  exciting  work,  the  novice  discovered,  to  trudge 
through  peas,  beans,  tuniips,  and  com,  soaked  with 
showers,  and  muddied  to  the  knees  till  his  Parisian 
boots  were  reduced  to  the  consistency  of  brown  paper. 
He  came  home,  much  to  his  own  relief,  without  having 
brought  the  blood  of  his  host's  son   and   heir  on   his 

187 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

head,  and  he  made  a  mental  note  never  to  go  to  Scot- 
land again  without  hobnailed  boots  and  a  shooting- 
jacket. 

On  leaving  Dalhousie  Willis  spent  a  few  days  in  Edin- 
burgh, where  he  breakfasted  with  Professor  Wilson,  alias 
Christopher  North.  The  Professor,  he  says,  talked  away 
famously,  quite  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  the  tea  was 
made,  and  the  breakfast- dishes  were  smoking  on  the  table. 
He  spoke  much  of  Blackwood,  who  then  lay  dying,  and 
described  him  as  a  man  of  the  most  refined  literary  taste, 
whose  opinion  of  a  book  he  would  trust  before  that  of 
any  one  he  knew.  Wilson  inquired  if  his  guest  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Lockhart.  'I  have  not,**  re- 
plied Willis.  '  He  is  almost  the  only  literary  man  in 
London  I  have  not  met ;  and  I  must  say,  as  the  editor 
of  the  Quarterly  Review^  and  the  most  unfair  and  un- 
principled critic  of  the  day,  I  have  no  wish  to  know 
him.  I  never  heard  him  well  spoken  of.  I  have  pro- 
bably met  a  hundred  of  his  acquaintances,  but  I  have 
not  yet  seen  one  who  pretended  to  be  his  friend.'  Wilson 
defended  the  absent  one,  who,  he  said,  was  the  mildest 
and  most  unassuming  of  men,  and  dissected  a  book 
for  pleasure,  without  thinking  of  the  feelings  of  the 
author. 

The  breakfast  had  been  cooling  for  an  hour  when  the 
Professor  leant  back,  with  his  chair  still  towards  the  fire, 
and  '  seizing  the  teapot  as  if  it  were  a  sledge-hammer,  he 
poured  from  one  cup  to  the  other  without  interrupting 
the  stream,  overrunning  both  cup  and  saucer,  and  partly 
flooding  the  tea-tray.  He  then  set  the  cream  towards 
me  with  a  carelessness  that  nearly  overset  it,  and  in  try- 
ing to  reach  an  egg  from  the  centre  of  the  table,  broke 
two.  He  took  no  notice  of  his  own  awkwardness,  but 
188 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

drank  his  cup  of  tea  at  a  single  draught,  ate  his  egg  in 
the  same  expeditious  manner,  and  went  on  talking  of  the 
"  Noctes,""  and  Lockhart,  and  Blackwood,  as  if  eating  his 
breakfast  were  rather  a  troublesome  parenthesis  in  his 
conversation/  Wilson  offered  to  give  his  guest  letters 
to  Wordsworth  and  Southey,  if  he  intended  to  return  by 
the  Lakes.  '  I  lived  a  long  time  in  their  neighbourhood,** 
he  said, '  and  know  Wordsworth  perhaps  as  well  as  any 
one.  Many  a  day  I  have  walked  over  the  hills  with  him, 
and  listened  to  his  repetition  of  his  own  poetry,  which, 
of  course,  filled  my  mind  completely  at  the  time,  and 
perhaps  started  the  poetical  vein  in  mc,  though  I  cannot 
agree  with  the  critics  that  my  poetry  is  an  imitation  of 
Wordsworth''s.'* 

*Did  Wordsworth  repeat  any  other  poetry  than  his 
own?'' 

'  Never  in  a  single  instance,  to  my  knowledge.  He  is 
remarkable  for  the  manner  in  which  he  is  wrapped  up 
in  his  own  poetical  life.  Everything  ministers  to  it. 
Everything  is  done  with  reference  to  it.  He  is  all  and 
only  a  poet.*" 

*  What  is  Southey "s  manner  of  life  ? ' 

'Walter  Scott  said  of  him  that  he  lived  too  much 
with  women.  He  is  secluded  in  the  country,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  circle  of  admiring  friends,  who  glorify 
every  literary  project  he  undertakes,  and  persuade  him, 
in  spite  of  his  natural  modesty,  that  he  can  do  nothing 
wrong.  He  has  great  genius,  and  is  a  most  estimable 
man."* 

On  the  same  day  that  he  breakfasted  with  Wilson, 
this  fortunate  tourist  dined  with  Jeffrey,  with  whom 
Lord  Brougham  was  staying.  Unluckily,  Brougham  was 
absent,  at  a  public  dinner  given  to  Lord  Grey,  who  also 

189 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  AVILLIS 

happened  to  be  in  Edinburgh  at  the  time.  Willis  was 
charmed  with  Jeffrey,  with  his  frank  smile,  hearty 
manner,  and  graceful  style  of  putting  a  guest  at  his 
ease.  But  he  cared  less  for  the  political  conversation  at 
table.  *It  had  been  my  lot,"*  he  says,  'to  be  thrown 
principally  among  Tories  {Conservatives  is  the  new  name) 
since  my  arrival  in  England,  and  it  was  difficult  to  rid 
myself  at  once  of  the  impressions  of  a  fortnight  passed  in 
the  castle  of  a  Tory  earl.  My  sympathies  on  the  great 
and  glorious  occasion  [the  Whig  dinner  to  Lord  Grey] 
were  slower  than  those  of  the  rest  of  the  company,  and 
much  of  their  enthusiasm  seemed  to  me  overstrained. 
Altogether,  I  entered  less  into  the  spirit  of  the  hour 
than  I  could  have  wished.  Politics  are  seldom  witty 
or  amusing ;  and  though  I  was  charmed  with  the 
good  sense  and  occasional  eloquence  of  Lord  Jeffrey, 
I  was  glad  to  get  upstairs  to  chasse-cafe  and  the 
ladies.' 

Willis  aggravated  a  temporary  lameness  by  dancing 
at  the  ball  that  followed  the  Whig  banquet,  and  was 
compelled  to  abandon  a  charming  land-route  north  that 
he  had  mapped  out,  and  allow  himself  to  be  taken  '  this 
side  up '  on  a  steamer  to  Aberdeen.  Here  he  took  coach 
for  Fochabers,  and  thence  posted  to  Gordon  Castle. 
At  the  castle  he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  most 
distinguished  company;  the  page  who  showed  him  to 
his  room  running  over  the  names  of  Lord  Aberdeen  and 
Lord  Claude  Hamilton,  the  Duchess  of  Richmond  and 
her  daughter,  Lady  Sophia  Lennox,  Lord  and  Lady 
Stormont,  Lord  and  Lady  Mandeville,  Lord  and  Lady 
Morton,  Lord  Aboyne,  Lady  Keith,  and  twenty  other 
lesser  lights.  The  duke  himself  came  to  fetch  his 
guest  before  dinner,  and  presented  him  to  the  duchess 
190 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

and  the  rest  of  the  party.  In  a  letter  to  Lady  Blessington 
Willis  says  :  '  I  am  delighted  with  the  duke  and  duchess. 
He  is  a  delightful,  hearty  old  fellow,  full  of  fun  and 
conversation,  and  she  is  an  uncommonly  fine  woman, 
and,  without  beauty,  has  something  agreeable  in  her 
countenance.  Pour  moi-mSme,  I  get  on  better  every- 
where than  in  your  presence.  I  only  fear  I  talk  too 
much ;  but  all  the  world  is  particularly  civil  to  me,  and 
among  a  score  of  people,  no  one  of  whom  I  had  ever  seen 
yesterday,  I  find  myself  quite  at  home  to-day."* 

The  ten  days  at  Gordon  Castle  Willis  afterwards  set 
apart  in  his  memory  as  *a  bright  ellipse  in  the  usual 
procession  of  joys  and  sorrows.'  He  certainly  made  the 
most  of  this  unique  opportunity  of  observing  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  great.  The  routine  of  life  at  the 
castle  was  what  each  guest  chose  to  make  it.  '  Between 
breakfast  and  lunch,"*  he  writes,  *  the  ladies  were  usually 
invisible,  and  the  gentlemen  rode,  or  shot,  or  played 
billiards.  At  two  o"*clock  a  dish  or  two  of  hot  game  and 
a  profusion  of  cold  meats  were  set  on  small  tables,  and 
everybody  came  in  for  a  kind  of  lounging  half  meal, 
which  occupied  perhaps  an  hour.  Thence  all  adjourned 
to  the  drawing-room,  under  the  windows  of  which  were 
drawn  up  carriages  of  all  descriptions,  with  grooms, 
outriders,  footmen,  and  saddle-horses  for  gentlemen  and 
ladies.  Parties  were  then  made  up  for  driving  or  riding, 
and  from  a  pony-chaise  to  a  phaeton  and  four,  there 
was  no  class  of  vehicle  that  was  not  at  your  disposal. 
In  ten  minutes  the  carriages  were  all  filled,  and  away 
they  flew,  some  to  the  banks  of  the  Spey  or  the  seaside, 
some  to  the  drives  in  the  park,  and  all  with  the  delight- 
ful consciousness  that  speed  where  you  would,  the  horizon 
scarce  limited  the  possessions  of  your  host,  and  you  were 

191 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

everywhere  at  home.  The  ornamental  gates  flying  open 
at  your  approach ;  the  herds  of  red  deer  trooping  away 
from  the  sound  of  your  wheels;  the  stately  pheasants 
feeding  tamely  in  the  immense  preserves;  the  stalking 
gamekeepers  lifting  their  hats  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the 
forest — there  was  something  in  this  perpetual  reminder 
of  your  privileges  which,  as  a  novelty,  was  far  from  dis- 
agreeable. I  could  not,  at  the  time,  bring  myself  to  feel, 
what  perhaps  would  be  more  poetical  and  republican, 
that  a  ride  in  the  wild  and  unfenced  forest  of  my  own 
country  would  have  been  more  to  my  taste."* 

Willis  came  to  the  conclusion  that  a  North  American 
Indian,  in  his  more  dignified  phase,  closely  resembled  an 
English  nobleman  in  manner,  since  it  was  impossible  to 
astonish  either.  All  violent  sensations,  he  observes,  are 
avoided  in  high  life.  '  In  conversation  nothing  is  so 
"  odd "'''  (a  word  that  in  English  means  everything  dis- 
agreeable) as  emphasis,  or  a  startling  epithet,  or  gesture, 
and  in  common  intercourse  nothing  is  so  vulgar  as  any 
approach  to  "  a  scene."  For  all  extraordinary  admira- 
tion, the  word  "  capital  '"*  suffices ;  for  all  ordinary  praise, 
the  word  "nice"";  for  all  condemnation  in  morals, 
manners,  or  religion,  the  word  "  odd.""  .  .  .  What  is 
called  an  overpowering  person  is  immediately  shunned, 
for  he  talks  too  much,  and  excites  too  much  attention. 
In  any  other  country  he  would  be  considered  amusing. 
He  is  regarded  here  as  a  monopoliser  of  the  general  in- 
terest, and  his  laurels,  talk  he  never  so  well,  overshadow 
the  rest  of  the  company ."* 

On  leaving  Gordon  Castle,  Willis  crossed  Scotland  by 

the  Caledonian  Canal,  and  from  Fort  William  jolted  in 

a  Highland  cart  through  Glencoe  to  Tarbet  on  Lomond. 

Thence  the  regulation  visits  were  paid  to  Loch  Katrine, 

192 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

the  Trossachs  and  Callander.  Another  stay  at  Dalhousie 
Castle  gave  the  tourist  an  opportunity  of  seeing  Abbots- 
ford,  where  he  heard  much  talk  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Lord  Dalhousie  had  many  anecdotes  to  tell  of  Scotfs 
school-days,  and  Willis  recalled  some  reminiscences  of 
the  Wizard  that  he  had  heard  from  Moore  in  London. 
*  Scott  was  the  soul  of  honesty,'  Moore  had  said.  *  When 
I  was  on  a  visit  to  him,  we  were  coming  up  from  Kelso 
at  sunset,  and  as  there  was  to  be  a  fine  moon,  I  quoted 
to  him  his  own  rule  for  seeing  "  fair  Melrose  aright,"^  and 
proposed  to  stay  an  hour  and  enjoy  it.  "Bah,'*'  said 
Scott.  "I  never  saw  it  by  moonlight.""  We  went, 
however,  and  Scott,  who  seemed  to  be  on  the  most 
familiar  terms  with  the  cicerone,  pointed  to  an  empty 
niche,  and  said  to  him :  "  I  think  I  have  a  Virgin  and 
Child  that  will  just  do  for  your  niche.  1 11  send  it  to 
you.""  "  How  happy  you  have  made  that  man,'"*  I  said. 
"  Oh,"  said  Scott, "  it  was  always  in  the  way,  and  Madam 
Scott  is  constantly  grudging  it  house-room.  WeVe  well 
rid  of  it."  Any  other  man  would  have  allowed  himself 
at  least  the  credit  of  a  kind  action.' 

After  a  stay  at  a  I^ncashire  country-house,  Willis 
arrived  at  Liverpool,  where  he  got  his  first  sight  of  the 
newly-opened  railway  to  Manchester.  In  the  letters  and 
jouiTials  of  the  period,  it  is  rather  unusual  to  come  upon 
any  allusion  to  the  great  revolution  in  land- travelling. 
We  often  read  of  our  grandfathers'  astonishment  at  the 
steam-packets  that  crossed  the  Atlantic  in  a  fortnight, 
but  they  seem  to  have  slid  into  the  habit  of  travelling 
by  rail  almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  much  as  their 
descendants  have  taken  to  touring  in  motor-cars.  Willis 
the  observant,  however,  has  left  on  record  his  sensations 
during  his  first  journey  by  rail. 

N  198 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

'Down  we  dived  into  the  long  tunnel/  he  relates, 
'  emerging  from  the  darkness  at  a  pace  that  made  my  hair 
sensibly  tighten,  and  hold  on  with  apprehension.  Thirty 
miles  in  the  hour  is  pleasant  going  when  one  is  a  little 
accustomed  to  it,  it  gives  one  such  a  pleasant  contempt 
for  time  and  distance.  The  whizzing  past  of  the 
return  trains,  going  in  the  opposite  direction  with  the 
same  degree  of  velocity — making  you  recoil  in  one  second, 
and  a  mile  off  the  next — was  the  only  thing  which, 
after  a  few  minutes,  I  did  not  take  to  very  kindly.' 

Willis  adds  to  our  obligations  by  reporting  the  cries 
of  the  newsboys  at  the  Elephant  and  Castle,  where  all 
the  coaches  to  and  from  the  South  stopped  for  twenty 
minutes.  On  the  occasion  that  our  traveller  passed 
through,  the  boys  were  crying  '  Noospipper,  sir  !  Buy 
the  morning  pippers,  sir !  Times,  Herald,  Chrinnicle,  and 
Munning  Post,  sir  —  contains  Lud  Brum's  entire 
innihalation  of  Lud  Nummanby — Ledy  Flor  'Estings' 
murder  by  Lud  Melbun  and  the  Maids  of  Honour — 
debate  on  the  Croolty-Hannimals  Bill,  and  a  fatil  cats- 
trophy  in  conskens  of  loosfer  matches  !  Sixpence,  only 
sixpence ! ' 

In  November  Willis  returned  to  London,  and  took 
lodgings  in  Vigo  Street.  During  the  next  ten  months  he 
seems  to  have  done  a  good  deal  of  work  for  the  magazines, 
and  to  have  been  made  much  of  in  society  as  a  literary 
celebrity.  His  stories  and  articles,  which  appeared  in 
the  New  Monthly  Magazine  under  the  pseudonym  of 
Philip  Slingsby,  were  eagerly  read  by  the  public  of  that 
day.  He  was  presented  at  court,  admitted  to  the 
Athenaeum  and  Travellers'  Clubs,  and  patronised  by 
Lady  Charlotte  Bury  and  Lady  Stepney,  ladies  who  were 
in  the  habit  of  writing  bad  novels,  and  giving  excellent 
194 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

dinners.  Madden,  Lady  Blessington''s  biographer,  who 
saw  a  good  deal  of  Willis  at  this  time,  says  that  he 
was  an  extremely  agreeable  young  man,  somewhat  over- 
dressed, and  a  little  too  dcmonstratify  but  abounding 
in  good  spirits.  *  He  was  observant  and  communica- 
tive, lively  and  clever  in  conversation,  having  the 
peculiar  art  of  making  himself  agreeable  to  ladies,  old 
and  young,  degage  in  his  manner,  and  on  exceedingly 
good  terms  with  himself.' 

Not  only  had  Willis  the  entree  into  fashionable 
Bohemia,  but  he  was  well  received  in  many  families  of 
unquestionable  respectability.  Elderly  and  middle- 
aged  ladies  were  especially  attracted  by  his  flattering 
attentions  and  deferential  manners,  and  at  this  time 
two  of  his  most  devoted  friends  were  Mrs.  Shaw  of  the 
Manor  House,  Lee,  a  daughter  of  Lord  Erskine,  and 
Mrs.  Skinner  of  Shirley  Park,  the  wife  of  an  Indian 
nabob.  Their  houses  were  always  open  to  him,  and  he 
says  in  a  letter  to  his  mother :  *  I  have  two  homes  in 
England  where  I  am  loved  like  a  child.  I  had  a  letter 
from  Mrs.  Shaw,  who  thought  I  looked  low-spirited  at 
the  opera  the  other  night.  "  Young  men  have  but  two 
causes  of  unhappiness,"  she  writes,  "  love  and  money. 
If  it  is  money ^  Mr.  Shaw  wishes  me  to  say  you  shall 
have  as  much  as  you  want ;  if  it  is  lovc^  tell  us  the  lady, 
and  perhaps  we  can  help  you."  I  spend  my  Sundays 
alternately  at  their  splendid  country-house,  and  at 
Mrs.  Skinner'^s,  and  they  can  never  get  enough  of  me. 
I  am  often  asked  if  I  carry  a  love-philter  with 
me.' 

At  Shirley  Park,  Willis  struck  up  a  friendship  with 
Jane  Porter,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  Lady 
Morgan,  Praed,  John  Leech,  and  Martin  Tapper.     Mrs. 

195 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

Skinner  professed  to  be  extremely  anxtous  to  find  him 
a  suitable  wife,  and  in  a  confidential  letter  to  her,  he 
writes  :  '  You  say  if  you  had  a  daughter  you  would  give 
her  to  me.  If  you  had  one,  I  should  certainly  take  you 
at  your  word,  provided  this  expose  of  my  poverty  did 
not  change  your  fancy.  I  should  like  to  marry  in 
England,  and  I  feel  every  day  that  my  best  years  and 
best  affections  are  running  to  waste.  I  am  proud  to  he 
an  American,  but  as  a  literary  man,  I  would  rather  live 
in  England.  So  if  you  know  of  any  affectionate  and 
good  girl  who  would  be  content  to  live  a  quiet  life,  and 
could  love  your  humble  servant,  you  have  full  power  to 
dispose  of  me,  provided  she  has  five  hundred  a  year,  or 
as  much  more  as  she  likes.  I  know  enough  of  the 
world  to  cut  my  throat,  rather  than  bring  a  delicate 
woman  down  to  a  dependence  on  my  brains  for  support.' 
In  March  of  this  year,  1835,  Willis  produced  his 
Melanie,  and  other  Poems,  which  was  '  edited '  by  Barry 
Cornwall.  He  received  the  honour  of  a  parody  in  the 
Bon  Gaidtier  Ballads,  entitled  'The  Fight  with  the 
Snapping  Turtle,  or  the  American  St.  George.'  In  this 
ballad  Willis  and  Bryant  are  represented  as  setting  out 
to  kill  the  Snapping  Turtle,  spurred  on  by  the  offer  of  a 
hundred  dollars  reward.  The  turtle  swallows  Willis, 
but  is  thereupon  taken  ill,  and  having  returned  him  to 
earth  again,  dies  in  great  agony.  When  he  claims  the 
reward,  he  is  informed  that 

'  Since  you  dragged  the  tarnal  crittur  ^ 

From  the  bottom  of  the  ponds, 
Here 's  the  hundred  dollars  due  you 
All  in  Pennsylvanian  bonds.' 

At  the  end  of  the  poem  is  a  drawing  of  a  pair  of  stocks, 
labelled  '  The  only  good  American  securities.' 
196 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

Willis  seems  to  have  been  too  busy  to  Boswellise  this 
season,  but  we  get  a  glimpse  of  him  in  his  letters  to 
Miss  Mitford,  and  one  or  two  of  the  notes  in  his  diary 
are  worth  quoting.  On  April  22  he  writes  to  the  author 
of  Our  Village  in  his  usual  flattering  style  :  '  I  am  anxious 
to  see  your  play  and  your  next  book,  and  I  quite  agree 
with  you  that  the  drama  is  your  pied^  though  I  think 
laurels,  and  spreading  ones,  are  sown  for  you  in  every 
department  of  writing.  Nobody  ever  wrote  better 
prose,  and  what  could  not  the  author  of  Rienzi  do  in 
verse.  For  myself,  I  am  far  from  considering  myself 
regularly  embarked  in  literature,  and  if  I  can  live  with- 
out it,  or  ply  any  other  vocation,  shall  vote  it  a  thank- 
less trade,  and  save  my  "  entusymussy  *"  for  my  wife  and 
children — when  I  get  them.  I  am  at  present  steeped 
to  the  lips  in  London  society,  going  to  everything,  from 
Devonshire  House  to  a  publisher's  dinner  in  Paternoster 
Row,  and  it  is  not  a  bad  olla  podrula  of  life  and 
manners.  I  dote  on  "  England  and  true  English,*"  and 
was  never  so  happy,  or  so  at  a  loss  to  find  a  minute  for 
care  or  forethought.' 

In  his  diary  for  June  30,  Willis  notes :  *  Breakfasted 
with  Samuel  Rogers.  Talked  of  Mrs.  Butler's  book, 
and  Rogers  gave  us  suppressed  passages.  Talked  critics, 
and  said  that  as  long  as  you  cast  a  shadow,  you  were 
sure  that  you  possessed  substance.  Coleridge  said  of 
Southey,  "  I  never  think  of  him  but  as  mending  a  pen."" 
Southey  said  of  Coleridge,  »*  Whenever  anything  presents 
itself  to  him  in  the  form  of  a  duty,  that  moment  he 
finds  himself  incapable  of  looking  at  it." '  On  July  9 
we  have  the  entry :  *  Dined  with  Dr.  Beattie,  and  met 
Thomas  Campbell.  ...  He  spoke  of  Scott's  slavishness 
to  men  of  rank,  but  said  it  did  not  interfere  with  his 

197 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

genius.  Said  it  sunk  a  man's  heart  to  think  that  he 
and  Byron  were  dead,  and  there  was  nobody  left  to 
praise  or  approve.  .  .  .  He  told  a  story  of  dining  with 
Burns  and  a  Bozzy  friend,  who,  when  Campbell  proposed 
the  health  of  Mr.  Burns,  said,  "  Sir,  you  will  always  be 
known  as  Mr.  Campbell,  but  posterity  will  talk  of 
Buims.''''  He  was  playful  and  amusing,  and  drank  gin 
and  water.' 

While  staying  with  the  Skinners  in  August,  Willis 
met  his  fate  in  the  person  of  Miss  Mary  Stace, 
daughter  of  a  General  Stace.  After  a  week's  acquaint- 
ance he  proposed  to  her,  and  was  accepted.  She  was, 
we  are  told,  a  beauty  of  the  purest  Saxon  type,  with  a 
bright  complexion,  blue  eyes,  light  -  brown  hair,  and 
delicate,  regular  features.  Her  disposition  was  clinging 
and  affectionate,  and  she  had  enjoyed  the  religious 
bringing  up  that  her  lover  thought  of  supreme  im- 
portance to  a  woman.  General  Stace  agreed  to  allow 
his  daughter  £S00  a  year,  which  with  the  i?400  that 
Willis  made  by  his  pen,  was  considered  a  sufficient 
income  for  the  young  couple  to  start  housekeeping 
upon. 

Willis,  who  had  promised  to  pay  Miss  Mitford  a 
visit  in  the  autumn,  writes  to  her  on  September  22, 
to  explain  that  all  his  plans  were  altered.  'Just  before 
starting  with  Miss  Jane  Porter  on  a  tour  that  was  to 
include  Reading,'  he  says,  « I  went  to  a  picnic,  fell  in 
love  with  a  blue-eyed  girl,  and  (after  running  the 
gauntlet  successfully  through  France,  Italy,  Greece, 
Germany,  Asia  Minor,  and  Turkey)  I  renewed  my 
youth,  and  became  "a  suitor  for  love."  I  am  to 
be  married  (sequitur)  on  Thursday  week.  .  .  .  The 
lady  who  is  to  take  me,  as  the  Irish  say,  "  in  a  present,*" 
198 


I 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

is  some  six  years  younger  than  myself,  gentle,  religious, 
relying,  and  unambitious.  She  has  never  been  whirled 
through  the  gay  society  of  London,  so  is  not  giddy  or 
vain.  She  has  never  swum  in  a  gondola,  or  written  a 
sonnet,  so  has  a  proper  respect  for  those  who  have. 
She  is  called  pretty,  but  is  more  than  that  in  my  eyes ; 
sings  as  if  her  heart  were  hid  in  her  lips,  and  loves  me. 
.  .  .  We  are  bound  to  Paris  for  a  month  (because  I 
think  amusement  better  than  reflection  when  a  woman 
makes  a  doubtful  bargain),  and  by  November  we  return 
to  London  for  the  winter,  and  in  the  spring  sail  for 
America  to  see  my  mother.  I  have  promised  to  live 
mainly  on  this  side  of  the  water,  and  shall  return  in 
the  course  of  a  year  to  try  what  contentment  may  be 
sown  and  reaped  in  a  green  lane  in  Kent.' 

While  the  happy  pair  were  on  their  honeymoon. 
Lady  Blessington  had  undertaken  to  see  the  PendllingH 
by  the  Way  through  the  press.  For  the  first  edition 
Willis  received  .£'250,  but  he  made,  from  first  to  last, 
about  a  thousand  pounds  by  the  book.  Its  appear- 
ance in  volume  form  had  been  anticipated  by  Lockhar^s 
scathing  review  in  the  Quarterly  for  September  1835. 
The  critic,  annoyed  at  Willis''s  strictures  on  himself  in 
the  interview  with  Professor  Wilson,  attacked  the 
Pencillings,  as  they  had  appeared  in  the  New  York 
Mirror,  with  all  proper  names  printed  in  full,  and 
many  personal  details  that  were  left  out  in  the  English 
edition.  Lockhart  always  knew  how  to  stab  a  man 
in  the  tenderest  place,  and  he  stabbed  Willis  in  his 
gentility.  After  pointing  out  that  while  visiting  in 
London  and  the  provinces  as  a  young  American 
sonneteer  of  the  most  ultra-sentimental  delicacy,  the 
Penciller  was  all  the  time  the  regular  paid  correspon- 

199 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

dent  of  a  New  York  Journal,  he  observes  that  the 
letters  derive  their  powers  of  entertainment  chiefly 
from  the  light  that  they  reflect  upon  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  author's  own  countrymen,  since,  from 
his  sketches  of  English  interiors,  the  reader  may  learn 
what  American  breakfast,  dinners,  and  table-talk  are 
not ;  or  at  all  events  what  they  were  not  in  those 
circles  of  American  society  with  which  the  writer 
happened  to  be  familiar. 

'Many  of  this  person's  discoveries,"'  continues  Lockhart, 
warming  to  his  work,  '  will  be  received  with  ridicule  in 
his  own  country,  where  the  doors  of  the  best  houses 
were  probably  not  opened  to  him  as  liberally  as  those 
of  the  English  nobility.  In  short,  we  are  apt  to 
consider  him  as  a  just  representative  —  not  of  the 
American  mind  and  manners  generally — but  only  of 
the  young  men  of  fair  education  among  the  busy, 
middling  orders  of  mercantile  cities.  In  his  letters 
from  Gordon  Castle  there  are  bits  of  solid,  full-grown 
impudence  and  impertinence ;  while  over  not  a  few  of 
the  paragraphs  is  a  varnish  of  conceited  vulgarity  which 
is  too  ludicrous  to  be  seriously  offensive.  .  .  .  We  can 
well  believe  that  Mr.  Willis  depicted  the  sort  of  society 
that  most  interests  his  countrymen,  "  born  to  be  slaves 
and  struggling  to  be  lords,''  their  servile  adulation  of 
rank  and  talent ;  their  stupid  admiration  of  processions 
and  levees,  are  leading  features  of  all  the  American 
books  of  travel.  .  .  .  We  much  doubt  if  all  the  pretty 
things  we  have  quoted  will  so  far  propitiate  Lady 
Blessington  as  to  make  her  again  admit  to  her  table 
the  animal  who  has  printed  what  ensues.  [Here 
follows  the  report  of  Moore's  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject of  O'Connell.]  As  far  as  we  are  acquainted  with 
200 


I 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

English  or  American  literature,  this  is  the  first  example 
of  a  man  creeping  into  your  home,  and  forthwith, 
before  your  claret  is  dry  on  his  lips,  printing  table-talk 
on  delicate  subjects,  and  capable  of  compromising  indi- 
viduals.'' 

The  Quarterly  having  thus  given  the  lead,  the  rest 
of  the  Tory  magazines  gaily  followed  suit.  Maginn 
flourished  his  shillelagh,  and  belaboured  his  victim 
with  a  brutality  that  has  hardly  ever  been  equalled, 
even  by  the  pioneer  jounials  of  the  Wild  West.  '  This 
is  a  goose  of  a  book,'  he  begins,  '  or  if  anybody  wishes 
the  idiom  changed,  the  book  of  a  goose.  There  is  not 
an  idea  in  it  beyond  what  might  germinate  in  the 
brain  of  a  washerwoman.**  He  then  proceeds  to  call 
the  author  by  such  elegant  names  as  '  lickspittle,' 
'  beggarly  skittler,**  jackass,  ninny,  haberdasher, 
*  fifty-fifth  rate  scribbler  of  gripe-visited  sonnets,**  and 
'  namby-pamby  writer  in  twaddling  albums  kept  by 
the  mustachioed  widows  or  bony  matrons  of  Portland 
Place.' 

The  people  whose  hospitality  Willis  was  accused  of 
violating  wrote  to  assure  him  of  the  pleasure  his  book 
had  given  them.  Lord  Dalhousie  writes :  '  We  all 
agree  in  one  sentiment,  that  a  more  amusing  and 
delightful  production  was  never  issued  by  the  press. 
The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Gordon  were  here  lately, 
and  expressed  themselves  in  similar  terms.'  Lady 
Blessington  did  not  withdraw  her  friendship,  but  Willis 
admits,  in  one  of  his  letters,  that  he  had  no  deeper 
regret  than  that  his  indiscretion  should  have  checked 
the  freedom  of  his  approach  to  her.  As  a  result  of 
the  slashing  reviews,  the  book  sold  with  the  readiness 
of  a  mcch  de  scandaky  though  it  had  been  so  rigorously 

201 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

edited  for  the  English  market,  that  very  few  indiscre- 
tions were  left. 

The  unexpurgated  version  of  the  Pencillmgs  was, 
however,  copied  into  the  English  papers  and  eagerly 
read  by  the  persons  most  concerned,  such  as  Fonblanque, 
who  bitterly  complained  of  the  libel  upon  his  personal 
appearance,  O'Connell,  who  broke  off  his  lifelong 
friendship  with  Moore,  and  Captain  Marryat,  who 
was  furious  at  the  remark  that  his  '  gross  trash '  sold 
immensely  in  Wapping.  Like  Lockhart,  he  revenged 
himself  by  an  article  in  his  own  magazine,  the  Metro- 
politan, in  which  he  denounced  Willis  as  a  'spurious 
attache,"*  and  made  dark  insinuations  against  his  birth 
and  parentage.  This  attack  was  too  personal  to  be 
ignored.  Willis  demanded  an  apology,  to  which 
Marryat  replied  with  a  challenge,  and  after  a  long 
correspondence,  most  of  which  found  its  way  into  the 
Times ,  a  duel  was  fixed  to  take  place  at  Chatham. 
At  the  last  moment  the  seconds  managed  to  arrange 
matters  between  their  principals,  and  the  affair  ended 
without  bloodshed.  This  was  fortunate  for  Willis, 
who  was  little  used  to  fire-arms,  whilst  Marryat  was  a 
crack  shot. 

In  his  preface  to  the  first  edition  of  the  Pencillings 
Willis  explains  that  the  ephemeral  nature  and  usual 
obscurity  of  periodical  correspondence  gave  a  sufficient 
warrant  to  his  mind  that  his  descriptions  would  die 
where  they  first  saw  the  light,  and  that  therefore  he  had 
indulged  himself  in  a  freedom  of  detail  and  topic  only 
customary  in  posthumous  memoirs.  He  expresses  his 
astonishment  that  this  particular  sin  should  have  been 
visited  upon  him  at  a  distance  of  three  thousand  miles, 
when  the  Quarterly  reviewer's  own  fame  rested  on  the  more 
202 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  AVILLIS 

aggravated  instance  of  a  book  of  personalities  published 
under  the  very  noses  of  the  persons  described  {Peter's 
Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk).  After  observing  that  he  was 
little  disposed  to  find  fault,  since  everything  in  England 
pleased  him,  he  proceeds :  *  In  one  single  instance  I 
indulged  myself  in  strictures  upon  individual  character. 
...  I  but  repeated  what  I  had  said  a  thousand  times, 
and  never  without  an  indignant  echo  to  its  truth,  that 
the  editor  of  that  Review  was  the  most  unprincipled 
critic  of  the  age.  Aside  from  its  flagrant  literary 
injustice,  we  owe  to  the  Quarterli^  every  spark  of  ill- 
feeling  that  has  been  kept  alive  between  England  and 
America  for  the  last  twenty  years.  The  sneers,  the 
opprobrious  epithets  of  this  bravo  of  literature  have 
been  received  in  a  country  where  the  machinery  of 
reviewing  was  not  understood,  as  the  voice  of  the 
English  people,  and  animosity  for  which  there  was  no 
other  reason  has  been  thus  periodically  fed  and 
exasperated.  I  conceive  it  to  be  my  duty  as  a  literary 
man — I  knoxv  it  is  my  duty  as  an  American — to  lose 
no  opportunity  of  setting  my  heel  on  this  reptile  of 
criticism.  He  has  turned  and  stung  me.  Thank  God, 
I  have  escaped  the  slime  of  his  approbation.'' 

The  winter  was  spent  in  London,  and  in  the  following 
March  Willis  brought  out  his  Inklings  of  Jdventure,  a 
reprint  of  the  stories  that  had  appeared  in  various 
magazines  over  the  signature  of  Philip  Slingsby.  These 
were  supposed  to  be  real  adventures  under  a  thin 
disguise  of  fiction,  and  the  public  eagerly  read  the 
tawdry  little  tales  in  the  hope  of  discovering  the 
identities  of  the  dramatis  personam.  The  majority  of 
the  *  Inklings '  deal  with  the  romantic  adventures  of  a 
young  literary  man  who  wins  the  affection  of  high>bom 

MS 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

ladies,  and  is  made  much  of  in  aristrocratic  circles. 
The  author  revels  in  descriptions  of  luxurious  boudoirs 
in  which  recline  voluptuous  blondes  or  exquisite 
brunettes,  with  hearts  always  at  the  disposal  of  the 
all-conquering  Philip  Slingsby.  Fashionable  fiction, 
however,  was  unable  to  support  the  expense  of  a 
fashionable  establishment,  and  in  May  1836  the 
couple  sailed  for  America.  Willis  hoped  to  obtain  a 
diplomatic  appointment,  and  return  to  Europe  for 
good,  but  all  his  efforts  were  vain,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  rely  on  his  pen  for  a  livelihood.  His  first  undertak- 
ing was  the  letterpress  for  an  illustrated  volume  on 
American  scenery ;  and  for  some  months  he  travelled 
about  the  country  with  the  artist  who  was  respon- 
sible for  the  illustrations.  On  one  of  his  journeys 
he  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  spot  on  the  banks 
of  the  Owego  Creek,  near  the  junction  with  the 
Susquehanna,  and  bought  a  couple  of  hundred  acres 
and  a  house,  which  he  named  Glenmary  after  his 
wife. 

Here  the  pair  settled  down  happily  for  some  five 
years,  and  here  Willis  wrote  his  pleasant,  gossiping 
Letters  from  Under  a  Bridge  for  the  New  Yorl:  Mirror. 
In  these  he  prattled  of  his  garden,  his  farm,  his  horses 
and  dogs,  and  the  strangers  within  his  gates.  Un- 
fortunately, he  was  unable  to  devote  much  attention  to 
his  farm,  which  was  said  to  grow  nothing  but  flowers  of 
speed,  but  was  forced  to  spend  more  and  more  time  in 
the  editorial  office,  and  to  write  hastily  and  incessantly 
for  a  livelihood.  In  1839,  owing  to  a  temporary 
coolness  with  the  proprietor  of  the  Mirror,  Willis 
accepted  the  proposal  of  his  friend.  Dr.  Porter,  that  he 
should  start  a  new  weekly  paper  called  the  Corsair,  one 
204 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

of  a  whole  crop  of  pirate  weeklies  that  started  up  with 
the  establishment  of  the  first  service  of  Atlantic  liners. 
In  May  1839  the  first  steam- vessel  that  had  crossed 
the  ocean  anchored  in  New  York  Harbour,  and  thence- 
forward it  was  possible  to  obtain  supplies  from  the 
European  literary  markets  within  a  fortnight  of  pub- 
lication. It  was  arranged  between  Dr.  Parker  and 
Willis  that  the  cream  of  the  contemporary  literature  of 
England,  France,  and  Germany  should  be  conveyed  to 
the  readers  of  the  Corsair,  and  of  course  there  was  no 
question  of  payment  to  the  authors  whose  wares  were 
thus  appropriated. 

The  first  number  of  the  Corsair  appeared  in  January 
1839,  but  apparently  piracy  was  not  always  a  lucrative 
trade,  for  the  paper  had  an  existence  of  little  more 
than  a  year.  In  the  course  of  its  brief  career,  how- 
ever, Willis  paid  a  flying  visit  to  England,  where  he 
accomplished  a  great  deal  of  literary  business.  He  had 
written  a  play  called  The  Usurer  Matched,  which  was 
brought  out  by  Wallack  at  the  Surrey  Theatre,  and  is 
said  to  have  been  played  to  crowded  houses  during  a 
fairly  long  run,  but  neither  this  nor  any  of  his  other 
plays  brought  the  author  fame  or  fortune.  During  this 
season  he  published  his  Loiterings  of  Travel,  a  collec- 
tion of  stories  and  sketches,  a  fourth  edition  of  the  Pen- 
ciUings,  an  English  eilition  of  Letters  from  Under  a 
Bridge,  and  arranged  with  Virtue  for  works  on  Irish 
and  Canadian  scenery.  In  addition  to  all  this,  he  was 
contributing  jottings  in  London  to  the  Corsair,  As 
might  be  supposed,  he  had  not  much  time  for  society, 
but  he  met  a  few  old  friends,  made  acquaintance 
with  Kemble  and  Kean,  went  to  a  ball  at  Almack's,  and 
was    present   at    the    famous    Eglinton    Tournament, 

S06 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

which  watery  catastrophe  he  described  for  his  paper. 
One  of  the  most  interesting  of  his  new  acquaint- 
ances was  Thackeray,  then  chiefly  renowned  as  a  writer 
for  the  magazines.  On  July  26  Willis  writes  to 
Dr.  Porter  :— 

'  I  have  engaged  a  new  contributor  to  the  Corsair. 
Who  do  you  think  ?  The  author  of  Yellowphtsh  and 
Major  Gahagan.  He  has  gone  to  Paris,  and  will  write 
letters  from  there,  and  afterwards  from  London  for  a 
guinea  a  close  column  of  the  Corsair — cheaper  than  I 
ever  did  anything  in  my  life.  For  myself,  I  think  him 
the  very  best  periodical  writer  alive.  He  is  a  royal, 
daring,  fine  creature  too.'  In  his  published  Jottings, 
Willis  told  his  readers  that  *  Mr.  Thackeray,  the  author, 
breakfasted  with  me  yesterday,  and  the  Corsair  will  be 
delighted  to  hear  that  I  have  engaged  this  cleverest  and 
most  gifted  of  all  the  magazine-writers  of  London  to 
become  a  regular  correspondeiit  of  the  Corsair.  .  .  . 
Thackeray  is  a  tall,  athletic-looking  man  of  about  forty- 
five  [he  was  actually  only  eight-and-twenty],  with  a  look 
of  talent  that  could  never  be  mistaken.  He  is  one  of 
the  most  accomplished  draughtsmen  in  England,  as  well 
as  the  most  brilliant  of  periodical  writers.'  Thackeray 
only  wrote  eight  letters  for  the  Corsair,  which  were 
afterwards  republished  in  his  Paris  Sketch-book.  There 
is  an  allusion  to  this  episode  in  TTie  Adventures  of  Philip, 
the  hero  being  invited  to  contribute  to  a  New  York 
journal  called  The  Upper  Ten  Thousand,  a  phrase  in- 
vented by  Willis. 

When  the  Corsair  came  to  an  untimely  end,  Willis 

had    no    difficulty    in    finding    employment    on    other 

papers.      He   is   said  to  have  been  the  first  American 

magazine- writer  who  was  tolerably  well  paid,  and  at  one 

206 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

time  he  was  making  about  a  thousand  a  year  by  periodi- 
cal work.  That  his  name  was  already  celebrated  among 
his  own  countrymen  seems  to  be  proved  by  the  story  of 
a  commercial  gentleman  at  a  Boston  tea-party  who 
*  guessed  that  Go-ethe  was  the  N.  P.  Willis  of  Germany."* 
The  tales  written  about  this  time  were  afterwards 
collected  into  a  volume  called  Dashes  at  Life  with  a 
Free  Pencil.  Thackeray  made  great  fun  of  this  work 
in  the  Edinburgh  Review  for  October  1845,  more 
especially  of  that  portion  called  'The  Heart-book  of 
Ernest  Clay."'  *Like  Caesar/  observed  Thackeray,  *  Ernest 
Clay  is  always  writing  of  his  own  victories.  Duchesses 
pine  for  him,  modest  virgins  go  into  consumption  and 
die  for  him,  old  grandmothers  of  sixty  forget  their 
families  and  their  propriety,  and  fall  on  the  neck  of 
this  "  Free  Pencil.'' '  He  quotes  with  delight  the 
description  of  a  certain  Lady  Mildred,  one  of  Ernest 
Clay's  numerous  loves,  who  glides  into  the  room  at  a 
London  tea-party,  *  with  a  step  as  elastic  as  the 
nod  of  a  water-lily.  A  snowy  turban,  from  which 
hung  on  either  temple  a  cluster  of  crimson  camellias 
still  wet  with  the  night-dew;  long  raven  curls  of 
undisturbed  grace  falling  on  shoulders  of  that  inde- 
scribable and  dewy  coolness  which  follows  a  morning 
bath.'  How  naively,  comments  the  critic,  does  this 
nobleman  of  nature  recommend  the  use  of  this  rare 
cosmetic ! 

In  spite  of  his  popularity,  Willis's  affairs  were  not 
prospering  at  this  time.  He  had  received  nothing 
from  the  estate  of  his  father-in-law,  who  died  in  1839, 
his  publisher  failed  in  1842,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
sell  Glenmary  and  remove  to  New  York,  whence  he 
had  undertaken  to  send  a  fortnightly  letter  to  a  paper 

207 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

at  Washington.  This  was  the  year  of  Dickens's  visit  to 
America,  and  Willis  was  present  at  the  '  Boz  Ball," 
where  he  danced  with  Mrs.  Dickens,  to  whom  he  after- 
wards did  the  honours  of  Broadway.  In  1843  Willis 
made  up  his  difference  with  Morris,  and  again  became 
joint-editor  of  the  Mirror,  which,  a  year  later,  was 
changed  from  a  weekly  to  a  daily  paper.  His  con- 
tributions to  the  journal  consisted  of  stories,  poems, 
letters,  book-notices,  answers  to  correspondents,  and 
editorial  gossip  of  all  kinds. 

In  March  1845  Mrs.  Willis  died  in  her  confinement, 
leaving  her  (temporarily)  broken-hearted  husband  with 
one  little  girl.  '  An  angel  without  fault  or  foible  '  was 
his  epitaph  upon  the  woman  to  whom,  in  spite  of  his 
many  fictitious  bonnes  fortunes,  he  is  said  to  have  been 
faithfully  attached.  But  Willis  was  not  born  to  live 
alone,  and  in  the  following  summer  he  fell  in  love  with 
a  Miss  Cornelia  Grinnell  at  Washington,  and  was 
married  to  her  in  October,  1846.  The  second  Mrs. 
Willis  was  nearly  twenty  years  younger  than  her  husband, 
but  she  was  a  sensible,  energetic  young  woman,  who 
made  him  an  excellent  wife. 

The  title  of  the  Mirror  had  been  changed  to  that  of 
The  Home  Journal,  and  under  its  new  name  it  became  a 
prosperous  paper.  Willis,  who  was  the  leading  spirit  of 
the  enterprise,  set  himself  to  portray  the  town,  chronic- 
ling plays,  dances,  picture-exhibitions,  sights  and  enter- 
tainments of  all  kinds  in  the  airy  manner  that  was  so 
keenly  appreciated  by  his  countrymen.  He  was  recog- 
nised as  an  authority  on  fashion,  and  his  correspondence 
columns  were  crowded  with  appeals  for  guidance  in 
questions  of  dress  and  etiquette.  He  was  also  a 
favourite  in  general  society,  though  he  is  said  to  have 
208 


I 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

been,  next  to  Fenimore  Cooper,  the  best-abused  man  of 
letters  in  America.  One  of  his  most  pleasing  character- 
istics was  his  ready  appreciation  and  encouragement  of 
young  writers,  for  he  was  totally  free  from  professional 
jealousy.  He  was  the  literary  sponsor  of  Aldrich,  Bayard 
Taylor,  and  Lowell,  among  others,  and  the  last-named 
alludes  to  Willis  in  his  Fable  for  Critics  (1848)  in  the 
following  flattering  lines  : — 

'  His  nature 's  a  glass  of  champagne  with  the  foam  on% 
As  tender  as  Fletcher,  as  witty  as  Beaumont ; 
So  his  hest  things  are  done  in  the  heat  of  the  moment. 

He  'd  have  been  just  the  fellow  to  sup  at  the  *  Mermaid,' 
Cracking  jokes  at  rare  Ben,  with  an  eye  to  the  barmaid. 
His  wit  running  up  as  Canary  ran  down, — 
The  topmost  bright  bubble  on  the  wave  of  the  town.' 

After  1846  Willis  wrote  little  except  gossiping 
paragraphs  and  other  ephemera.  In  answer  to  re- 
monstrances against  this  method  of  frittering  away  his 
talents,  he  was  accustomed  to  reply  that  the  public  liked 
trifles,  and  that  he  was  bound  to  go  on  *  buttering 
curiosity  with  the  ooze  of  his  brains.'  He  read  but 
little  in  later  life,  nor  associated  with  men  of  high 
intellect  or  serious  aims,  but  showed  an  ever-increasing 
preference  for  the  frivolous  and  the  feminine.  In  1850 
he  published  another  volume  of  little  magazine  stories 
called  People  I  have  Met.  This  appeared  in  London  as 
well  as  in  New  York,  and  Thackeray  again  revenged 
himself  for  that  close  column  which  had  been  rewarded 
by  an  uncertain  guinea,  by  holding  up  his  former  editor 
to  ridicule.  With  mischievous  delight  he  describes 
the  amusement  that  is  to  be  found  in  N.  P.  Willises 
o  S09 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

society,  *  amusement  at  the  immensity  of  N.  P.'s 
blunders ;  amusement  at  the  prodigiousness  of  his 
self-esteem ;  amusement  always  with  or  at  Willis  the 
poet,  Willis  the  man,  Willis  the  dandy,  Willis  the 
lover — now  the  Broadway  Crichton — once  the  ruler  of 
fashion  and  heart- enslaver  of  Bond  Street,  and  the 
Boulevard,  and  the  Corso,  and  the  Chiaja,  and  the 
Constantinople  Bazaars.  It  is  well  for  the  general  peace 
of  families  that  the  world  does  not  produce  many  such 
men ;  there  would  be  no  keeping  our  wives  and  daughters 
in  their  senses  were  such  fascinators  to  make  frequent 
apparitions  among  us ;  but  it  is  comfortable  that  there 
should  have  been  a  Willis ;  and  as  a  literary  man  myself, 
and  anxious  for  the  honour  of  that  profession,  I  am 
proud  to  think  that  a  man  of  our  calling  should  have 
come,  should  have  seen,  should  have  conquered  as  Willis 
has  done.  .  .  .  There  is  more  or  less  of  truth,  he  nobly 
says,  in  these  stories — more  or  less  truth,  to  be  sure 
there  is — and  it  is  on  account  of  this  more  or  less  truth 
that  I  for  my  part  love  and  applaud  this  hero  and  poet. 
We  live  in  our  own  country,  and  don't  know  it ;  Willis 
walks  into  it,  and  dominates  it  at  once.  To  know  a 
duchess,  for  instance,  is  given  to  very  few  of  us.  He 
sees  things  that  are  not  given  to  us  to  see.  We  see  the 
duchess  in  her  carriage,  and  gaze  with  much  reverence 
on  the  strawberry-leaves  on  the  panels,  and  her  grace 
within ;  whereas  the  odds  are  that  that  lovely  duchess 
has  had,  one  time  or  the  other,  a  desperate  flirtation 
with  Willis  the  Conqueror.  Perhaps  she  is  thinking  of 
him  at  this  very  moment,  as  her  jewelled  hand  presses 
her  perfumed  handkerchief  to  her  fair  and  coroneted 
brow,  and  she  languidly  stops  to  purchase  a  ruby 
bracelet  at  Gunter's,  or  to  sip  an  ice  at  Howell  and 
210 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

James's.  He  must  have  whole  mattresses  stuffed  with 
the  blonde  or  raven  or  aubum  tresses  of  England's 
fairest  daughters.  When  the  female  English  aristocracy 
read  the  title  of  People  I  have  Met,  I  can  fancy  the 
whole  female  peerage  of  Willis's  time  in  a  shudder; 
and  the  melancholy  marchioness,  and  the  abandoned 
countess,  and  the  heart-stricken  baroness  trembling  as 
each  gets  the  volume,  and  asks  of  her  guilty  conscience, 
*'  Gracious  goodness,  is  the  monster  going  to  show  up 
mer 

In  1853  Willis,  who  had  been  obliged  to  travel 
for  the  benefit  of  his  declining  health,  took  a  fancy 
to  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Hudson,  and  bought  fifty 
acres  of  waste  land,  upon  which  he  built  himself  a 
house,  and  called  the  place  Idlewild.  Here  he  settled 
down  once  more  to  a  quiet  country  life,  took  care 
of  his  health,  cultivated  his  garden,  and  wrote  long 
weekly  letters  to  the  Home  Journal.  He  had  by  this 
time  five  children,  middle  age  had  stolen  upon  him,  and 
now  that  he  could  no  longer  pose  as  his  own  all- 
conquering  hero,  his  hand  seems  to  have  lost  its  cunning. 
His  editorial  articles,  afterwards  published  under  the 
appropriate  title  of  Ephemeray  grew  thinner  and  flatter 
with  the  passing  of  the  years ;  yet  slight  and  superficial 
as  the  best  of  them  are,  they  were  the  result  of  very 
hard  writing.  His  manuscripts  were  a  mass  of  erasures 
and  interlineations,  but  his  copy  was  so  neatly  prepared 
that  even  the  erasures  had  a  sort  of  *  wavy  elegance ' 
which  the  compositors  actually  preferred  to  print.  His 
mannerisms  and  affectations  grew  upon  him  in  his  later 
years,  and  he  became  more  and  more  addicted  to  the 
coining  of  new  words  and  phrases,  only  a  few  of  which 
proved    effective.       Besides   the    now    well-worn    term, 

5^11 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

the  '  upper  ten  thousand,'  he  is  credited  with  the  inven- 
tion of  '  Japonicadom/  '  come-at-able,'  and  '  stay-at- 
home-ativeness.'  One  or  two  of  his  sayings  may  be 
worth  quoting,  such  as  his  request  for  Washington 
Irving's  blotting-book,  because  it  was  the  door-mat  on 
which  the  thoughts  of  his  last  book  had  wiped  their 
sandals  before  they  went  in ;  and  his  remark  that  to 
ask  a  literary  man  to  write  a  letter  after  his  day's 
work  was  like  asking  a  penny-postman  to  take  a  walk  in 
the  evening  for  the  pleasure  of  it. 

On  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War  in  1861,  Willis 
went  to  Washington  as  war-correspondent  of  his  paper. 
It  does  not  appear  that  he  saw  any  harder  service  than 
the  dinners  and  receptions  of  the  capitol,  since  an 
opportune  fit  of  illness  prevented  his  following  the 
army  to  Bull's  Run.  The  correspondent  who  took  his 
place  on  the  march  had  his  career  cut  short  by  a 
Southern  bullet.  Willis,  meanwhile,  was  driving  about 
with  Mrs.  Lincoln,  with  whom  he  became  a  favourite, 
although  she  reproached  him  for  his  want  of  tact  in 
speaking  of  her  '  motherly  expression '  in  one  of  his 
published  letters,  she  being  at  that  time  only  thirty-six. 
He  met  Hawthorne  at  Washington,  and  describes  him 
as  very  shy  and  reserved  in  manner,  but  adds,  '  I  found 
he  was  a  lover  of  mine,  and  we  enjoyed  our  acquaintance 
very  much.'  One  of  the  minor  results  of  the  great 
Civil  War  was  the  extinguishing  of  Willis's  literary 
reputation ;  his  frothy  trifling  suddenly  became  obsolete 
when  men  had  sterner  things  to  think  about  than  the 
cut  of  a  coat,  or  the  etiquette  of  a  morning  call.  The 
nation  began  to  demand  realities,  even  in  its  fiction,  the 
circulation  of  the  Hovie  Journal  fell  off,  and  Willis,  who 
had  always  affected  a  horror  of  figures  and  business 
213 


NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

matters  generally,  found  himself  in  financial  difficulties. 
He  was  obliged  to  let  Idlewild,  and  return,  in  spite  of 
his  rapidly  failing  health,  to  the  editorial  office  at  New 
York. 

The  last  few  years  of  Willis's  career  afford  a  melan- 
choly contrast  to  its  brilliant  opening.  Health,  success, 
prosperity — all  had  deserted  him,  and  nothing  remained 
but  the  editorial  chair,  to  which  he  clung  even  after 
epileptic  attacks  had  resulted  in  paralysis  and  gradual 
softening  of  the  brain.  The  failure  of  his  mental 
powers  was  kept  secret  as  long  as  possible,  but  in 
November,  1866,  he  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  his 
wife  and  children,  knocked  off  work  for  ever,  and  went 
home  to  die.  His  last  few  months  were  passed  in 
helpless  weakness,  and  he  only  occasionally  recognised 
those  around  him.  The  end  came  on  January  20, 
1867,  his  sixty-first  birthday. 

Selections  from  Willis's  prose  works  have  been  pub- 
lished within  recent  years  in  America,  and  a  new  edition 
of  his  poems  has  appeared  in  England,  while  a  carefully 
written  Life  by  Mr.  De  Beers  is  included  in  the  series 
of  *  American  Men  of  Letters."*  But  in  this  country  at 
least  .his  fame,  such  as  it  is,  will  rest  upon  his  sketches 
of  such  celebrities  as  Lamb,  Moore,  Bulwer,  D'Orsay, 
and  D'lsraeli.  As  long  as  we  retain  any  interest  in 
them  and  their  works,  we  shall  like  to  know  how  they 
looked  and  dressed,  and  what  they  talked  about  in 
private  life.  It  is  impossible  altogether  to  approve  of 
the  Penciller — his  absurdities  were  too  marked,  and  his 
indiscretions  too  many — ^^et  it  is  probable  that  few  who 
have  followed  his  meteor-like  career  will  be  able  to 
refrain  from  echoing  Thackeray's  dictum  :  *  It  is  com- 
fortable that  there  should  have  been  a  Willis ! ' 

SIS 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

PART    I 

There  are  few  true  stories  that  are  distinguished  by  a  well- 
marked  moral.  If  we  study  human  chronicles  we  generally 
find  the  ungodly  flourishing  permanently  like  a  green  bay- 
tree,  and  the  righteous  apparently  forsaken  and  begging 
his  bread.  But  it  occasionally  happens  that  a  human 
life  illustrates  some  moral  lesson  with  the  triteness  and 
crudity  of  a  Sunday-school  book,  and  of  such  is  the 
career  of  Lady  Hester  Stanhope,  a  Pitt  on  the  mother's 
side,  and  more  of  a  Pitt  in  temper  and  disposition  than 
her  grandfather,  the  great  Commoner  himself.  Her 
story  contains  the  useful  but  conventional  lesson  that 
pride  goeth  before  a  fall,  and  that  all  earthly  glory  is 
but  vanity,  together  with  a  warning  against  the  ambition 
that  o''erleaps  itself,  and  ends  in  failure  and  humiliation. 
That  humanity  will  profit  by  such  a  lesson,  whether  true 
or  invented  for  didactic  purposes,  is  doubtful,  but  at 
least  Nature  has  done  her  best  for  once  to  usurp  the 
seat  of  the  preacher,  *  to  point  a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale.** 
Lady  Hester,  who  was  bom  on  March  1 2, 1 776,  was  the 
eldest  daughter  of  Charles,  third  Earl  of  Stanhope,  by  his 
first  wife  Hester,  daughter  of  the  great  Lord  Chatham. 
Lord  Stanhope  seems  to  have  been  an  uncomfortable 
person,  who  combined  scientific  research  with  demo- 
cratic principles,  and  contrived  to  quarrel  with  most  of 

217 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

his  family.  In  order  to  live  up  to  his  theories  he  laid 
down  his  carriage  and  horses,  effaced  the  armorial 
bearings  from  his  plate,  and  removed  from  his    walls 

some    famous    tapestry,    because    it    was    '  so    d d 

aristocratical.'  If  one  of  his  daughters  happened 
to  look  better  than  usual  in  a  becoming  hat  or 
frock,  he  had  the  garment  laid  away,  and  something 
coarse  put  in  its  place.  The  children  were  left  almost 
entirely  to  the  care  of  governesses  and  tutors,  their  step- 
mother, the  second  Lady  Stanhope  (a  Grenville  by  birth) 
being  a  fashionable  fine  lady,  who  devoted  her  whole 
time  to  her  social  duties,  while  Lord  Stanhope  was 
absorbed  by  his  scientific  pursuits.  The  home  was  not 
a  happy  one,  either  for  the  three  girls  of  the  first  mar- 
riage, or  for  the  three  sons  of  the  second.  In  1796 
Rachel,  the  youngest  daughter,  eloped  with  a  Sevenoaks 
apothecary  named  Taylor,  and  was  cast  off  by  her  family  ; 
and  in  1800  Griselda,  the  second  daughter,  married  a 
Mr.  Tekell,  of  Hampshire.  In  this  year  Hester  left  her 
home,  which  George  iii.  used  to  call  Democracy  Hall, 
and  went  to  live  with  her  grandmother,  the  Dowager 
Lady  Stanhope. 

On  the  death  of  Lady  Stanhope  in  1803,  Lady 
Hester  was  offered  a  home  by  her  uncle,  William  Pitt, 
with  whom  she  remained  until  his  death  in  1806.  Pitt 
became  deeply  attached  to  his  handsome,  high-spirited 
niece.  He  believed  in  her  sincerity  and  affection  for 
himself,  admired  her  courage  and  cleverness,  laughed  at 
her  temper,  and  encouraged  her  pride.  She  seems  to 
have  gained  a  considerable  influence  over  her  uncle,  and 
contrived  to  have  a  finger  in  most  of  the  ministerial 
pies.  When  reproached  for  allowing  her  such  unreserved 
liberty  of  action  in  state  affairs,  Pitt  was  accustomed  to 
218 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

reply,  '  I  let  her  do  as  she  pleases ;  for  if  she  were 
resolved  to   cheat  the   devil  himself,  she  would  do  it.' 

*  And  so  I  would,"  Lady  Hester  used  to  add,  when  she 
told  the  story.  If  we  may  believe  her  own  account, 
Pitt  told  her  that  she  was  fit  to  sit  between  Augustus 
and  Maecenas,  and  assured  her  that  '  I  have  plenty  of 
good  diplomatists,  but  they  are  none  of  them  military 
men ;  and  I  have  plenty  of  good  officers,  but  not  one  of 
them  is  worth  sixpence  in  the  cabinet.  If  you  were  a 
man,  Hester,  I  would  send  you  on  the  Continent  with 
60,000  men,  and  give  you  carte  blanche,  and  I  am  sure 
that  not  one  of  my  plans  would  fail,  and  not  one  soldier 
would  go  with  his  boots  unblacked.'  This  admiration, 
according  to  the  same  authority,  was  shared  by  George  in., 
who  one  day  on  the  Terrace  at  Windsor  informed 
Mr.  Pitt  that  he  had  got  a  new  and  superior  minister 
in  his  room,  and  one,  moreover,  who  was  a  good  general. 

*  There  is  my  new  minister,**  he  added,  pointing  at  Lady 
Hester.  *  There  is  not  a  man  in  my  kingdom  who  is  a 
better  politician,  and  there  is  not  a  woman  who  better 
adorns  her  sex.  And  let  me  say,  Mr.  Pitt,  you  have 
not  reason  to  be  proud  you  are  a  minister,  for  there 
have  been  many  before  you,  and  will  be  many  after  you ; 
but  you  have  reason  to  be  proud  of  her,  who  unites 
everything  that  is  great  in  man  and  woman.' 

All  this  must,  of  course,  be  taken  with  grains  of  salt, 
but  it  is  certain  that  Lady  Hester  occupied  a  position 
of  almost  unparalleled  supremacy  for  a  woman,  that  she 
dispensed  patronage,  lectured  ministers,  and  snubbed 
princes.  On  one  occasion  Lord  Mulgrave,  who  had  just 
been  appointed  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs, 
found  a  broken  egg-spoon  on  the  breakfast-table  at 
Walnier,  and  asked,  *  How  can  Mr.  Pitt  have  such  a 

219 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

spoon  as  this  ? '  '  Don't  you  know,'  retorted  Lady 
Hester,  '  that  Mr.  Pitt  sometimes  uses  very  slight  and 
weak  instruments  wherewith  to  effect  his  ends  ? ' 
Again,  when  Mr.  Addington  wished  to  take  the  title  of 
Lord  Raleigh,  Lady  Hester  determined  to  prevent  what 
she  regarded  as  a  desecration  of  a  great  name.  She 
professed  to  have  seen  a  caricature,  which  she  minutely 
described,  representing  Mr.  Addington  as  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  and  the  King  as  Queen  Elizabeth.  Mr.  Pitt, 
believing  the  story,  repeated  it  to  Addington  and  others, 
with  the  result  that  messengers  were  despatched  to  all 
the  print-shops  to  buy  up  the  whole  impression.  Of 
course  no  such  caricature  was  to  be  found,  but  the  pro- 
spective peer  had  received  a  fright,  and  chose  the  inoffen- 
sive title  of  Lord  Sidmouth.  Lady  Hester  despised 
Lord  Liverpool  for  a  well-meaning  blunderer,  but  she 
hated  and  distrusted  Canning,  whom  she  was  accustomed 
to  describe  as  a  fiery,  red-headed  Irish  politician,  who 
was  never  staunch  to  any  person  or  any  party ;  and  she 
declared  that  by  her  scoldings  she  had  often  made  him 
blubber  like  a  schoolboy.  It  cannot  be  supposed  that 
her  ladyship  was  popular  with  the  numerous  persons, 
high  and  low,  who  came  under  the  ban  of  her  displeasure, 
or  suffered  from  her  pride;  but  she  was  young,  hand- 
some, and  witty,  her  position  was  unassailable,  and  as 
long  as  her  uncle  chose  to  laugh  at  her  insolence  and 
her  eccentricities,  no  lesser  power  presumed  to  frown. 

For  her  beauty  in  youth  we  must  again  take  her  own 
account  on  trust,  since  she  never  consented  to  sit  for 
her  portrait,  and  in  old  age  her  recollection  of  her  vanished 
charms  may  have  been  coloured  by  some  pardonable 
exaggeration.  '  At  twenty,'  she  told  a  chronicler,  '  my 
complexion  was  like  alabaster,  and  at  five  paces  distant 
220 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

the  sharpest  eyes  could  not  discover  my  pearl  necklace 
from  my  skin.  My  lips  were  of  such  a  beautiful  carna- 
tion that,  without  vanity,  I  can  assure  you,  very  few 
women  had  the  like.  A  dark-blue  shade  under  the  eyes, 
and  the  blue  veins  that  were  observable  through  the 
transparent  skin,  heightened  the  brilliancy  of  my 
features.  Nor  were  the  roses  wanting  in  my  cheeks ; 
and  to  all  this  was  added  a  permanency  in  my  looks 
that  no  sort  of  fatigue  could  impair."*  She  was  fond  of 
relating  an  anecdote  of  a  flattering  impertinence  on  the 
part  of  Beau  Brummell,  who,  meeting  her  at  a  ball, 
coolly  took  the  earrings  out  of  her  ears,  telling  her  that 
she  should  not  wear  such  things,  as  they  hid  the  fine 
turn  of  her  cheek,  and  the  set  of  head  upon  her  neck. 
Lady  Hester  frankly  admitted,  however,  that  it  was  her 
brilliant  colouring  that  made  her  beauty,  and  once 
observed,  in  reply  to  a  compliment  on  her  appearance  : 
'  If  you  were  to  take  every  feature  in  my  face,  and  lay 
them  one  by  one  on  the  table,  there  is  not  a  single  one 
that  would  bear  examination.  The  only  thing  is  that, 
put  together  and  lighted  up,  they  look  well  enough. 
It  is  homogeneous  ugliness,  and  nothing  more.** 

With  Pitt's  death  in  January,  1806,  as  by  the  stroke 
of  a  magic  wand,  all  the  power,  all  the  glory,  and  all  the 
grandeur  came  to  a  sudden  end,  and  the  great  minister'^s 
favourite  niece  fell  to  the  level  of  a  private  lady,  with  a 
moderate  income,  no  influence,  and  a  host  of  enemies. 
On  his  deathbed,  Pitt  had  asked  that  an  annuity  of 
£1600  might  be  granted  to  Lady  Hester,  but  in  the 
end  only  £1200  was  awarded  to  her,  a  trifling  income 
for  one  with  such  exalted  ideas  of  her  own  importance. 
A  house  was  taken  in  Montagu  Square,  where  Lady 
Hester  entertained  her  half-brothers,  Charles  and  James 

221 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

Stanhope,  when  their  military  duties  allowed  of  their 
being  in  town.  Here  she  led  but  a  melancholy  life,  for 
her  means  would  not  allow  of  her  keeping  a  carriage,  and 
she  fancied  that  it  was  incompatible  with  her  dignity  to 
drive  in  a  hackney-coach,  or  to  walk  out  attended  by  a 
servant.  In  1809  Charles  Stanhope,  like  his  chief.  Sir 
John  Moore,  fell  at  Corunna.  Charles  was  Lady 
Hester's  favourite  brother,  and  tradition  says  that  Sir 
John  Moore  was  her  lover.  Be  that  as  it  may,  she 
broke  up  her  establishment  in  town  at  this  time,  and 
retired  to  a  lonely  cottage  in  Wales,  where  she  amused 
herself  in  superintending  her  dairy  and  physicking  the 
poor.  But  she  suffered  in  health  and  spirits,  the  con- 
trast of  the  present  with  the  past  was  too  bitter  to  be 
endured  in  solitude,  and  in  1810  she  decided  to  go 
abroad,  and  spend  a  year  or  two  in  the  south.  A  young 
medical  man.  Dr.  Meryon,^  was  engaged  to  accompany 
her  as  her  travelling  physician,  and  the  party  further 
consisted  of  her  brother,  James  Stanhope,  and  a  friend, 
Mr.  Nassau  Sutton,  together  with  two  or  three  servants. 
Lady  Hester  was  only  thirty  when  her  uncle  died,  but  it 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  considered  that  she  required 
any  chaperonage,  either  at  home  or  on  her  travels,  nor 
does  it  appear  that  Lord  Stanhope  (who  lived  till  1816) 
took  any  further  interest  in  her  proceedings. 

On  February  10,  1810,  the  travellers  sailed  for  the 
Mediterranean  on  board  the  frigate  Jason.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  follow  them  over  the  now  familiar  ground  of 
the  early  part  of  their  tour.  Gibraltar  (whence  Captain 
Stanhope  left  to  join  his  regiment  at  Cadiz),  Malta, 
Athens,  Constantinople,  these  were  the  first  stopping- 
places,  and  in  each  Lady  Hester  was  treated  with  great 
*  Afterwards  Lady  Hester's  chronicler. 

222 


I 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

respect  by  the  authorities,  and  went  her  own  way  in 
defiance  of  all  native  customs  and  prejudices.  At 
Athens  her  party  was  joined  by  Lord  Sligo,  who  was 
making  some  excavations  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  by 
Lord  Byron,  who  had  just  won  fresh  laurels  by  swim- 
ming the  Hellespont.  Lady  Hester  formed  but  a  poor 
opinion  of  the  poet,  whose  affectations  she  used  to  mimic 
with  considerable  effect.  *I  think  Lord  Byron  was  a 
strange  character,'  she  said,  many  years  later.  *  His 
generosity  was  for  a  motive,  his  avarice  was  for  a 
motive ;  one  time  he  was  mopish,  and  nobody  was  to 
speak  to  him ;  another,  he  was  for  being  jocular  with 
everybody.  ...  At  Athens  I  saw  nothing  in  him  but 
a  well-bred  man,  like  many  others :  for  as  for  poetry,  it 
is  easy  enough  to  write  verses ;  and  as  for  the  thoughts, 
who  knows  where  he  got  them  ?  Many  a  one  picks  up 
some  old  book  that  nobody  knows  anything  about,  and 
gets  his  ideas  out  of  it.  He  had  a  great  deal  of  vice  in 
his  looks — his  eyes  set  close  together,  and  a  contracted 
brow.  O  Lord !  I  am  sure  he  was  not  a  liberal  man, 
whatever  else  he  might  be.  The  only  good  thing  about  his 
looks  was  this  part  [drawing  her  hand  under  her  cheek,  and 
down  the  front  of  her  neck],  and  the  curl  on  his  forehead.' 
The  winter  of  1810  was  passed  at  Constantinople, 
and  the  early  part  of  1811  at  the  Baths  of  Brusa.  As 
Lady  Hester  had  decided  to  spend  the  following  winter 
in  Egypt,  a  Greek  vessel  was  hired  for  herself  and 
her  party,  which  now  consisted  of  two  gentlemen, 
Mr.  Bruce  and  Mr.  Pearce,  besides  her  usual  retinue, 
and  on  October  23  the  travellers  set  sail  for  Alexandria. 
After  experiencing  contrary  winds  for  two  or  three 
weeks,  the  ship  sprang  a  leak,  and  the  cry  of  *A11 
hands  to  the  pumps '  showed  that  danger  was  imminent. 

223 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

Lady  Hester  took  the  announcement  of  the  misfortune 
with  the  greatest  calmness,  dressed  herself,  and  ordered 
her  maid  to  pack  a  small  box  with  a  few  necessaries. 
It  soon  became  evident  that  the  ship  could  not  keep 
afloat  much  longer,  and  that  the  passengers  and  crew 
must  take  to  the  long-boat  if  they  wished  to  escape 
with  their  lives.  They  contrived,  in  spite  of  the  high 
sea  that  was  running,  to  steer  their  boat  into  a  little 
creek  on  a  rock  off  the  island  of  Rhodes,  and  here,  with- 
out either  food  or  water,  they  remained  for  thirty  hours 
before  they  were  rescued,  and  taken  ashore.  Even 
then  their  state  was  hardly  less  pitiable,  for  they  were 
wet  through,  had  no  change  of  clothes,  and  possessed 
hardly  enough  money  for  their  immediate  necessities. 
Lady  Hester  described  her  adventure  in  the  following 
letter,  dated  Rhodes,  December,  1811  : — 

'  I  write  one  line  by  a  ship  which  came  in  here  for  a 
few  hours,  just  to  tell  you  we  are  safe  and  well.  Starv- 
ing thirty  hours  on  a  bare  rock,  without  even  fresh 
water,  being  half  naked  and  drenched  with  wet,  having 
traversed  an  almost  trackless  country  over  dreadful 
rocks  and  mountains,  laid  me  up  at  a  village  for  a  few 
days,  but  I  have  since  crossed  the  island  on  an  ass, 
going  for  six  hours  a  day,  which  proves  I  am  pretty 
well,  now,  at  least.  .  .  .  My  locket,  and  the  valuable 
snuff-box  Lord  Sligo  gave  me,  and  two  pelisses,  are  all 
I  have  saved — all  the  travelling-equipage  for  Smyrna  is 
gone ;  the  servants  naked  and  unarmed ;  but  the  great 
loss  of  all  is  the  medicine-chest,  which  saved  the  lives 
of  so  many  travellers  in  Greece.' 

As  they  had  lost  nearly  all  their  clothes,  and  knew 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  procure  a  European 
refit  in  these  regions,  the  travellers  decided  to  adopt 
224 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

Turkish  costumes.  Dr.  Merj'on  made  a  journey  to 
Smyrna,  where  he  raised  money,  and  bought  necessary 
articles  for  the  shipwrecked  party  at  Rhodes.  On  his 
return,  laden  with  purchases,  after  an  absence  of  five 
weeks,  'the  packing-cases  were  opened  [to  quote  his 
own  description],  and  we  assumed  our  new  dresses. 
Ignorant  at  that  time  of  the  distinctions  of  dress  which 
prevail  in  Turkey,  every  one  flattered  himself  that  he 
was  habited  becomingly.  Lady  Hester  and  Mr.  Bruce 
little  suspected,  what  proved  to  be  the  case,  that  their 
exterior  was  that  of  small  gentry,  and  Mr.  Pearce  and 
myself  thought  we  were  far  from  looking  like  Chaooshes 
with  our  yatagans  stuck  in  our  girdles.**  Lady  Hester, 
it  may  be  noted,  had  determined  to  adopt  the  dress  of 
a  Turkish  gentleman,  in  order  that  she  might  travel 
unveiled,  a  proceeding  that  would  have  been  impossible 
in  female  costume. 

The  offer  of  a  passage  on  a  British  frigate  from 
Rhodes  to  Alexandria  was  gladly  accepted  by  Lady 
Hester  and  her  friends,  and  on  February  14,  1812, 
they  got  their  first  glimpse  of  the  Egyptian  coast. 
After  a  fortnight  spent  in  Alexandria,  they  proceeded 
to  Cairo,  where  the  pasha,  who  had  never  seen  an 
Englishwoman  of  rank  before,  desired  the  honour  of  a 
visit  from  Lady  Hester.  In  order  to  dazzle  the  eyes 
of  her  host,  she  arrayed  herself  in  a  magnificent  Tunisian 
costume  of  purple  velvet,  elaborately  embroidered  in 
gold.  For  her  turban  and  girdle  she  bought  two  cash- 
mere shawls  that  cost  £60  each,  her  pantaloons  cost 
£40,  her  pelisse  and  waistcoat  £50,  her  sabre  .^20,  and 
her  saddle  i^*35,  while  other  articles  necessary  for  the 
completion  of  the  costume  cost  a  hundred  pounds  more. 
The  pasha  sent  five  horses  to  convey  herself  and  her 
p  225 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

friends  to  the  palace,  and  much  honour  was  shown  her 
in  the  number  of  silver  sticks  that  walked  before  her, 
and  in  the  privilege  accorded  to  her  of  dismounting  at 
the  inner  gate.  After  the  interview,  the  pasha  reviewed 
his  troops  before  his  distinguished  visitor,  and  presented 
her  with  a  charger,  magnificently  caparisoned,  which  she 
sent  to  England  as  a  present  to  the  Duke  of  York,  her 
favourite  among  all  the  royal  princes. 

The  next  move  was  to  Jaffa,  where  preparations  were 
made  for  the  regulation  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem.  In 
her  youth  Lady  Hester  had  been  told  by  Samuel  Brothers, 
the  Prophet,  that  she  was  to  visit  Jerusalem,  to  pass 
seven  years  in  the  desert,  to  become  the  Queen  of 
the  Jews,  and  to  lead  forth  a  chosen  people.  Now, 
as  she  journeyed  towards  the  Holy  City  with  her 
cavalcade  of  eleven  camels  and  thirteen  horses,  she  saw 
the  first  part  of  the  prophecy  fulfilled,  and  laughingly 
avowed  that  she  expected  to  see  its  final  accomplish- 
ment. Lady  Hester  had  now  replaced  her  gorgeous 
Tunisian  dress  by  a  travelling  Mameluke's  costume,  con- 
sisting of  a  satin  vest,  a  red  cloth  jacket  shaped  like  a 
spencer,  and  trimmed  with  gold  lace,  and  loose,  full 
trousers  of  the  same  cloth.  Over  this  she  wore  a  flow- 
ing white  burnous,  whose  folds  formed  a  becoming 
drapery  to  her  majestic  figure.  In  this  costume  she 
was  generally  mistaken  by  the  natives  for  a  young  Bey 
with  his  moustaches  not  yet  grown,  but  we  are  told  that 
her  assumption  of  male  dress  was  severely  criticised  by 
the  English  residents  in  the  Levant. 

From  Jerusalem  the  party  made  a  leisurely  tourthrough 

Syria,  visiting  Caesarea,  Acre,  Nazareth,  Sayda,  where 

Lady  Hester  was  entertained  by  her  future  enemy,  the 

Emir  Beshvr,  prince  of  the  Druzes,  and  on  September 

226 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

1,  1812,  arrived  at  Damascus,  where  a  lengthened 
stay  was  made.  Lady  Hester  had  been  warned  that  it 
would  be  dangerous  for  a  woman,  unveiled  and  in  man''s 
dress,  to  enter  Damascus,  which  was  then  one  of  the 
most  fanatical  towns  in  all  the  Turkish  dominions.  But 
the  granddaughter  of  Pitt  feared  neither  Turk  nor 
Christian,  and  rode  through  the  streets  daily  with  un- 
covered face,  and  though  crowds  assembled  to  see 
her  start,  she  received  honours  instead  of  the  expected 
insults.  *  A  grave  yet  pleasing  look,**  writes  her  chron- 
icler, 'an  unembarrassed  yet  commanding  demeanour, 
met  the  ideas  of  the  Turks,  whose  manners  are  of  this 
caste.  .  ,  .  When  it  is  considered  how  fanatical  the 
people  of  Damascus  were,  and  in  what  great  abhorrence 
they  held  infidels ;  that  native  Christians  could  only 
inhabit  a  particular  quarter  of  the  town ;  and  that  no 
one  of  these  could  ride  on  horseback  within  the  walls, 
or  wear  as  part  of  his  dress  any  coloured  cloth  or  showy 
turban,  it  will  be  a  matter  for  surprise  how  completely 
these  prejudices  were  set  aside  in  favour  of  Lady  Hester, 
and  of  those  persons  who  were  with  her.  She  rode  out 
every  day,  and  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country, 
coffee  was  poured  on  the  ground  before  her  horse  to  do 
her  honour.  It  was  said  that,  in  going  through  a 
bazaar,  all  the  people  rose  up  as  she  passed,  an  honour 
never  paid  but  to  a  pasha,  or  to  the  mufti/ 

From  the  moment  of  her  arrival  at  Damascus,  Lady 
Hester  had  busied  herself  in  arranging  for  a  journey  to 
the  ruins  of  Palmyra.  The  expedition  was  considered 
not  only  difficult  but  dangerous,  and  she  was  assured 
that  a  large  body  of  troops  would  be  necessary  to  pro- 
tect her  from  the  robber  tribes  of  the  desert.  While  the 
practicability  of  the  enterprise  was  still  being  anxiously 

»^7 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

discussed  by  her  Turkish  advisers,  Lady  Hester  received 
a  visit  from  a  certain  Nasar,  son  of  Mahannah,  Emir  of 
the  Anizys  ^  (the  collective  name  given  to  several  of  the 
Bedouin  tribes  ranging  that  part  of  the  desert),  who 
told  her  that  he  had  heard  of  her  proposed  expedition, 
and  that  he  came  to  warn  her  against  attempting  to 
cross  the  desert  under  military  escort,  since  in  that 
case  she  would  be  treated  as  an  enemy  by  the  tribes. 
But,  he  added,  if  she  would  place  herself  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Arabs,  and  rely  upon  their  honour,  they 
would  pledge  themselves  to  conduct  her  from  Hamah  to 
Palmyra  and  back  again  in  safety.  The  result  of  this 
interview  was  that  Lady  Hester  declined  the  pasha's 
offer  of  troops,  and  leaving  the  doctor  to  wind  up 
affairs  at  Damascus  she  departed  alone,  ostensibly 
for  Hamah,  a  city  on  the  highroad  to  Aleppo.  But 
having  secretly  arranged  a  meeting  with  the  Emir 
Mahannah  in  the  desert,  she  rode  straight  to  his  camp, 
accompanied  by  Monsieur  and  Madame  Lascaris,  who 
were  living  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  by  a  Bedouin 
guide.  In  a  letter  to  General  Oakes,  dated  January  25, 
1813,  she  gives  the  following  account  of  her  first  experi- 
ment upon  the  good  faith  of  the  Arabs  : — 

'I  went  with  the  great  chief,  Mahannah  el  Fadel 
(who  commands  40,000  men),  into  the  desert  for  a  week, 
and  marched  for  three  days  with  their  camp.  I  was 
treated  with  the  greatest  respect  and  hospitality,  and 
it  was  the  most  curious  sight  I  ever  saw ;  horses  and 
mares  fed  upon  camePs  milk ;  Arabs  living  upon  little 
else  except  rice  ;  the  space  around  me  covered  with  living 
things;   1600  camels  coming  to  water  from  one  tribe 

^  Dr.   Meryon's  somewhat  erratic  spelling  of  Oriental  names  is  fol- 
lowed throughout  this  memoir. 

228 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

only ;  the  old  poets  from  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates 
singing  the  praises  of  the  ancient  heroes ;  women  with 
lips  dyed  bright  blue,  and  nails  red,  and  hands  all  over 
flowers  and  different  designs ;  a  chief  who  is  obeyed 
like  a  great  king;  starvation  and  pride  so  mixed  that 
really  I  could  not  have  had  an  idea  of  it.  .  .  .  However, 
I  have  every  reason  to  be  perfectly  contented  with  their 
conduct  towards  me,  and  I  am  the  Queen  with  them 
all.' 

The  preparations  for  the  journey  occupied  nearly  two 
months,  the  cavalcade  being  on  a  magnificent  scale. 
Twenty-two  camels  were  to  carry  the  baggage,  twenty- 
five  horsemen  formed  the  retinue,  in  addition  to  the 
Bedouin  escort,  led  by  Nasar,  the  Emir's  son.  Still  the 
risk  was  great,  for  Lady  Hester  carried  with  her  many 
articles  of  value,  and  of  course  was  wholly  at  the  mercy 
of  her  conductors,  who  got  their  living  by  plunder.  But 
she  sought  the  remains  of  Zenobia  as  well  as  the  ruins  of 
Palmyra,  and  had  set  her  heart  upon  seeing  the  city  which 
had  been  governed  by  one  of  her  own  sex,  and  owed  its 
chief  magnificence  to  her  genius.  Mr.  Bruce,  writing  to 
General  Oakes  just  before  the  start,  observes  :  *  If  Lady 
Hester  succeeds  in  this  undertaking,  she  will  at  least 
have  the  merit  of  being  the  first  European  female  who 
has  ever  visited  this  once  celebrated  city.  Who  knows 
but  she  may  prove  another  Zenobia,  and  be  destined  to 
restore  it  to  its  ancient  splendour  ? ' 

The  cavalcade  set  out  on  March  20,  a  sum  of  about 
^50  being  paid  over  to  the  Emir  for  his  escort,  with  the 
promise  of  twice  as  much  more  on  the  safe  return  of 
the  party.  The  journey  seems  to  have  been  uneventful 
save  for  the  occasional  sulks  of  the  Bedouin  leader,  and 
the  petty  thefts  of  his  followers.     The  inhabitants  of 

S29 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

Palmyra  had  been  warned  of  the  approach  of  the  '  great 
white  queen,"  who  rode  a  mare  worth  forty  purses,  and 
had  in  her  possession  a  book  which  instructed  her  where 
to  find  treasure,  and  a  bag  of  herbs  with  which  she 
could  transmute  stones  into  gold.  By  way  of  welcome  a 
body  of  about  two  hundred  men,  armed  with  matchlocks, 
went  out  to  meet  her,  and  displayed  for  her  amusement 
a  mock  attack  on,  and  defence  of,  a  caravan.  The  guides 
led  the  cavalcade  up  through  the  long  colonnade,  which 
is  terminated  by  a  triumphal  arch,  the  shaft  of  each 
of  the  pillars  having  a  projecting  pedestal,  or  console,  on 
which  a  statue  once  stood.  '  What  was  our  surprise,' 
writes  Dr.  Meryon,  '  to  see,  as  we  rode  up  the  avenue, 
that  several  beautiful  girls  had  been  placed  on  these 
pedestals  in  the  most  graceful  postures,  and  with  garlands 
in  their  hands.  ...  On  each  side  of  the  arch  other  girls 
stood  by  threes,  while  a  row  of  six  was  arranged  across 
the  gate  of  the  arch  with  thyrsi  in  their  hands.  While 
Lady  Hester  advanced,  these  living  statues  remained 
immovable  on  their  pedestals  ;  but  when  she  had  passed, 
they  leaped  to  the  ground,  and  joined  in  a  dance  by 
her  side.  On  reaching  the  triumphal  arch,  the  whole 
in  groups,  both  men  and  girls,  danced  round  her.  Here 
some  bearded  elders  chanted  verses  in  her  praise,  and  all 
the  spectators  joined  in  the  chorus.  Lady  Hester  herself 
seemed  to  partake  of  the  emotions  to  which  her  presence 
in  this  remote  spot  had  given  rise.  Nor  was  the 
wonder  of  the  Palmyrenes  less  than  our  own.  They 
beheld  with  amazement  a  woman  who  had  ventured 
thousands  of  miles  from  her  own  country,  and  crossed 
a  waste  where  hunger  and  thirst  were  the  least  of  the 
perils  to  be  dreaded.'  It  may  be  observed  that  the 
people  of  Syria,  excited  by  the  achievements  of  Sir  Sydney 
230 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

Smith,  had  begun  to  imagine  that  their  land  might  be 
occupied  by  the  English,  and  perhaps  regarded  Lady 
Hester  as  an  English  princess  who  had  come  to  prepare 
the  way,  if  not  to  take  possession. 

The  travellers  were  only  allowed  a  week  in  which  to 
examine  the  ruins  of  Palmyra,  being  hurried  away  by 
Prince  Nasar  on  the  plea  that  an  attack  was  expected 
from  a  hostile  tribe.  After  resting  for  a  time  at  Hamah, 
and  taking  an  affectionate  farewell  of  their  friendly 
Bedouins  (Lady  Hester  was  enrolled  as  an  Anizy  Arab 
of  the  tribe  of  Melken),  they  journeyed  to  Laodicea, 
which  was  believed  to  be  free  from  the  plague  that  was 
raging  in  other  parts  of  Syria,  and  here  the  summer 
months  were  spent.  In  October  Mr.  Bruce  received 
letters  which  obliged  him  to  return  at  once  to  England, 
and,  as  Dr.  Meryon  observes,  *  he  therefore  reluctantly 
prepared  to  quit  a  lady  in  whose  society  he  had  so  long 
travelled,  and  from  whose  conversation  and  experience  of 
the  world  so  much  useful  knowledge  was  to  be  acquired.' 
Lady  Hester  had  now  renounced  the  idea  of  returning 
to  Europe,  at  any  rate  for  the  present.  She  had  some 
thoughts  of  taking  a  journey  overland  to  Bussora,  and 
had  also  entered  into  a  correspondence  with  the  chief  of 
the  Wahabys,  with  a  view  to  travelling  across  the 
desert  to  visit  him  in  his  capital  of  Derdyeh ;  but  she 
finally  decided  on  remaining  for  some  months  longer  in 
Syria.  She  had  heard  of  a  house,  once  a  monastery,  at 
Mar  Elias,  near  Sayda  (the  ancient  Sidon),  which  could 
be  hired  for  a  small  rent.  The  house  was  taken,  the 
luggage  shipped  to  Sayda,  and  Lady  Hester  and  her 
doctor  were  preparing  to  follow,  when  both  fell  ill  of  a 
malignant  fever,  which  they  believed  to  be  a  species  of 
plague.    For  some  time  Lady  Hester^s  life  was  despaired 

281 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

of,  but  thanks  to  her  splendid  constitution,  she  pulled 
through,  though  she  was  not  strong  enough  to  leave 
Laodicea  until  January,  1814. 

Lady  Hester  had  now  become  a  sojourner  instead  of  a 
traveller  in  the  East,  and,  abandoning  European  customs 
altogether,  she  conformed  entirely  to  the  mode  of  life  of 
the  Orientals.  Mar  Elias,  which  was  situated  on  a  spur 
of  Mount  Lebanon,  in  a  barren  and  rocky  region,  consisted 
of  a  one-storied  stone  building  with  flat  roofs,  enclos- 
ing a  small  paved  court.  '  Since  her  illness,'  writes  Dr. 
Meryon,  'Lady  Hester's  character  seemed  to  have  changed. 
She  became  simple  in  her  habits,  almost  to  cynicism. 
Scanning  men  and  things  with  a  wonderful  intelligence, 
she  commented  upon  them  as  if  the  motives  of  human 
action  were  laid  open  to  her  inspection.'  The  plague 
having  again  broken  out  in  the  neighbourhood,  the 
party  at  Mar  Elias  were  insulated  upon  their  rock,  and 
during  the  early  days  of  their  tenancy  were  in  much 
the  same  position  as  the  crew  of  a  well-victualled  ship  at 
sea,  having  abundance  of  fresh  provisions,  but  no  books, 
no  newspapers,  and  no  intercourse  with  the  outer  world. 

In  the  autumn  an  expedition  to  the  ruins  of  Baalbec 
was  undertaken,  and  at  Beyrout,  on  the  way  home,  a 
servant  brought  the  news  that  a  Zaym,  or  Capugi  Bashi,^ 
was  at  that  town  on  his  road  to  Sayda,  and  was  reported 
to  be  going  to  capture  Lady  Hester,  and  carry  her  to 
Constantinople.  Her  ladyship  received  the  announce- 
ment with  her  usual  composure,  and  it  turned  out  that 
she  had  long  expected  the  Capugi  Bashi,  and  knew  the 
object  of  his  visit.  Scarcely  had  the  travellers  arrived 
at  Mar  Elias  than  a   message  came   to    Lady  Hester, 

*  Nominally  a  door-keeper,  according  to  Dr.  Meryon,  but  actually  a 
Turkish  official  of  high  rank. 

232 


I 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

requesting  her  to  meet  the  Zaym  at  the  house  of 
the  governor  of  Sayda,  since  it  was  not  customary 
for  a  Turkish  official  to  go  to  a  Christian's  house. 
But  in  this  case  the  haughty  Moslem  had  reckoned 
without  his  host.  Lady  Hester  returned  so  spirited 
an  answer  that  the  Zaym  at  once  ordered  his  horses, 
and  galloped  over  to  Mar  Elias.  The  doctor  and  the 
secretary,  knowing  nothing  of  the  mission,  felt  consider- 
able doubt  of  his  intentions,  and  put  loaded  pistols 
in  their  girdles,  determined  that  if  he  had  a  bowstring 
under  his  robes,  no  use  should  be  made  of  it  while  they 
had  a  bullet  at  his  disposal.  In  the  Turkish  dominions, 
it  must  be  understood,  a  Capugi  Bashi  seldom  comes 
into  the  provinces  unless  for  some  affair  of  strangling, 
beheading,  confiscation,  or  imprisonment,  and  his  pre- 
sence is  the  more  dreaded,  as  it  is  never  known  on  whose 
head  the  blow  will  fall. 

In  this  case,  fortunately,  the  Capugi's  visit  had  no 
sinister  motive.  The  fact  was  now  divulged  that  Lady 
Hester  had  been  given  a  manuscript,  said  to  have  been 
copied  by  a  monk  from  the  records  of  a  Frank 
monastery  in  Syria,  which  disclosed  the  hiding-places 
of  immense  hoards  of  money  buried  in  certain  specified 
spots  in  the  cities  of  Ascalon  and  Sayda.  Lady  Hester, 
having  convinced  herself  of  the  genuineness  of  the  manu- 
script, had  written  to  the  Sultan  through  Mr.,  after- 
wards Sir  Robert,  Liston,  for  permission  to  make  the 
necessary  excavations,  at  the  same  time  offering  to  forego 
all  pecuniary  benefit  that  might  accrue  from  her  labours. 
The  custom  of  burying  money  in  times  of  danger  is  so 
common  in  the  East  that  credence  was  easily  lent  to  the 
story,  while  the  fact  that  treasure  might  lie  for  centuries 
untouched,  even  though  the  secret  of  its  existence  was 

233 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

known  to  several  persons,  was  possible  in  a  country  where 
digging  among  ruins  always  excites  dangerous  suspicions 
in  the  minds  of  the  authorities,  and  where  the  discovery 
of  a  jar  of  coins  almost  invariably  leads  to  the  ruin  of 
the  finder,  who  is  supposed  to  keep  back  more  than  he 
reveals. 

The  Sultan  evidently  believed  that  the  matter  was 
worth  examination,  for  he  had  sent  the  Capugi  from 
Constantinople  to  invest  Lady  Hester  with  greater 
authority  over  the  Turks  than  had  ever  been  granted 
even  to  a  European  ambassador.  It  was  arranged  that 
the  first  excavations  should  be  made  at  Ascalon,  and 
though  Lady  Hester,  having  only  just  returned  from 
Baalbec,  felt  disinclined  to  set  out  at  once  on  another 
long  journey,  the  Zaym  urged  her  to  lose  no  time,  and 
himself  went  on  to  Acre  to  make  the  necessary  prepara- 
tions. As  her  income  barely  sufficed  for  her  own  ex- 
penditure, she  resolved  to  ask  the  English  Government 
to  pay  the  cost  of  her  search,  holding  that  the  honour 
which  would  thereby  accrue  to  the  English  name  was  a 
sufficient  justification  for  her  demand. 

'I  shall  beg  of  you,"*  she  said  to  Dr.  Meryon,  'to 
keep  a  regular  account  of  every  article,  and  will  then 
send  in  my  bill  to  Government  by  Mr.  Liston ;  when,  if 
they  refuse  to  pay  me,  I  shall  put  it  in  the  newspapers, 
and  expose  them.  And  this  I  shall  let  them  know  very 
plainly,  as  I  consider  it  my  right,  and  not  as  a 
favour;  for  if  Sir  A.  Paget  put  down  the  cost  of  his 
servants'*  liveries  after  his  embassy  to  Vienna,  and  made 
Mr.  Pitt  pay  him  ^70,000  for  four  years,  I  cannot  see 
why  I  should  not  do  the  same."* 

On  February  15,  1815,  Lady  Hester  left  Mar  Elias 
on  horseback,  followed  by  her  usual  retinue,  and  on 
234 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

arriving  at  Acre  spent  about  three  weeks  in  preparing 
for  the  work  at  Ascalon.  In  compliance  with  the 
firmans  sent  by  the  Porte  to  all  the  governors  of  Syria, 
she  was  treated  with  distinctions  usually  paid  to  no  one 
under  princely  rank.  '  Whenever  she  went  out/  writes 
Dr.  Meryon,  *  she  was  followed  by  a  crowd  of  spectators; 
and  the  curiosity  and  admiration  which  she  had  very 
generally  excited  throughout  Syria  were  now  increased 
by  her  supposed  influence  in  the  affairs  of  Government, 
in  having  a  Capugi  Bashi  at  her  command.  ...  No 
Turk  now  paid  her  a  visit  without  wearing  his  mantle 
of  ceremony,  and  every  circumstance  showed  the  ascend- 
ency she  had  gained  in  public  opinion.''  In  addition  to 
her  own  six  tents,  twenty  more  were  furnished  for  her 
suite,  besides  twenty-two  tent-pitchers,  twelve  mules  to 
carry  the  baggage,  and  twelve  camels  to  carry  the  tents. 
To  Lady  Hester'*s  use  was  appropriated  a  gorgeous 
tilted  palanquin  or  litter,  covered  with  crimson  cloth, 
and  ornamented  with  gilded  balls.  In  case  she  pre- 
ferred riding,  her  mare  and  her  favourite  black  ass 
were  led  in  front  of  the  litter.  A  hundred  men  of 
the  Haw^ry  cavalry  escorted  the  procession,  which  left 
Acre  on  March  18,  and  arrived  at  Jaffa  ten  days 
later.  Here  a  short  halt  was  made,  and  on  the  last 
day  of  March  they  set  off"  for  Ascalon,  their  animals 
laden  with  shovels,  pickaxes,  and  baskets.  On  arriving 
at  their  destination  the  tents  were  pitched  in  the  midst 
of  the  ruins,  while  a  cottage  was  fitted  up  for  Lady 
Hester  without  the  walls.  Orders  were  at  once  despatched 
to  the  neighbouring  villages  for  relays  of  labourers  to 
work  at  the  excavations.  These  men  received  no  pay, 
being  requisitioned  by  Government,  but  they  were  well 
fed  and  humanely  treated  by  their  English  employer. 

235 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

The  excavations  were  carried  on  for  about  a  fort- 
night on  the  site  indicated  in  the  mysterious  paper. 
During  the  first  three  days  nothing  was  found  except 
bones,  fragments  of  pillars,  and  a  few  vases  and 
bottles ;  but  on  the  fourth  day  a  fine,  though  mutilated, 
colossal  statue  was  discovered,  which  apparently  repre- 
sented a  deified  king.  Dr.  Meryon  made  a  sketch 
of  the  marble,  and  pointed  out  to  Lady  Hester  that 
her  labours  had  at  least  brought  to  light  a  treasure 
that  would  be  valuable  in  the  eyes  of  lovers  of  art, 
and  that  the  ruins  would  be  memorable  for  the  enter- 
prise of  a  woman  who  had  rescued  the  remains  of 
antiquity  from  oblivion.  To  his  astonishment  and  dis- 
may she  replied,  '  It  is  my  intention  to  break  up  the 
statue,  and  have  it  thrown  into  the  sea,  precisely  in 
order  that  such  a  report  may  not  get  abroad,  and  I 
lose  with  the  Porte  all  the  merit  of  my  disinterestedness.' 
In  vain  Dr.  Meryon  represented  that  such  an  act  would 
be  an  unpardonable  vandalism,  and  was  the  less  excus- 
able since  the  Turks  had  neither  claimed  the  statue, 
nor  protested  against  its  preservation.  Her  only  answer 
was :  *  Malicious  people  may  say  I  came  to  search  for 
antiquities  for  my  country,  and  not  for  treasures  for  the 
Porte.  So,  go  this  instant,  take  with  you  half-a-dozen 
stout  fellows,  and  break  it  into  a  thousand  pieces.' 
Michaud,  in  his  account  of  the  affair,  says  that  the 
Turks  clamoured  for  the  destruction  of  the  statue, 
believing  that  the  trunk  was  full  of  gold,  and  that 
Lady  Hester  had  it  broken  up  in  order  to  prove  to 
them  their  error.  Be  this  as  it  may,  reports  were 
afterwards  circulated  in  Ascalon  that  the  statue  had 
actually  contained  treasure,  half  of  which  was  handed 
over  to  the  Porte,  and  half  kept  by  Lady  Hester. 
236 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

On  the  sixth  day  two  large  stone  troughs  were  dis- 
covered, upon  which  lay  four  granite  pillars.  This 
sight  revived  the  hopes  of  the  searchers,  for  it  was 
thought  that  the  mass  of  granite  could  not  have  fallen 
into  such  a  position  accidentally,  but  must  have  been 
placed  there  to  conceal  something  of  value.  Great 
was  the  disappointment  of  all  concerned  when,  on 
removing  the  pillars,  the  troughs  were  found  to  be 
empty.  The  excavations  of  the  next  four  days  having 
produced  nothing  of  any  value,  the  work  was  brought  to 
an  end,  by  Lady  Hester's  desire,  on  April  14.  She  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  when  Gezzar  Pasha  em- 
bellished the  city  of  Acre  by  digging  for  marble  among 
the  ruins  of  Ascalon,  he  had  been  fortunate  enough  to 
discover  the  treasure,  and  she  believed  that  his  apparent 
mania  for  building  was  only  a  cloak  to  conceal  his  real 
motives  for  excavating.  The  officials  and  soldiers  were 
handsomely  rewarded  for  their  trouble,  and  Lady  Hester 
set  out  on  her  homeward  journey,  minus  her  tents, 
palanquin,  military  escort,  and  other  emblems  of 
grandeur,  but  with  no  loss  of  dignity  or  serenity. 

On  returning  to  Mar  Elias,  she  caused  some  excava- 
tions to  be  made  near  Sayda,  but  with  no  better  success, 
and  after  a  few  days  the  work  was  abandoned.  Lady 
Hester  had  been  obliged  to  borrow  a  sum  of  money  for 
her  expenses  from  Mr.  Barker,  the  British  consul  at 
Aleppo,  and  now,  observes  Dr.  Meryon,  'as  she  had 
throughout  proposed  to  herself  no  advantage  but  the 
celebrity  which  success  would  bring  on  her  own  name 
and  that  of  the  English  nation,  and  as  she  had  acted 
with  the  cognisance  of  our  minister  at  Constantinople, 
she  fancied  that  she  had  a  claim  upon  the  English 
Government   for  her  expenses.     Accordinglv,  she  sent 

237 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

our  ambassador  an  account  of  her  proceedings,  and  after 
showing  that  all  she  had  done  was  for  the  credit  of  her 
country,  she  asserted  her  right  to  be  reimbursed.  She 
was  unsuccessful,  however,  in  her  application,  and  the 
expenses  weighed  heavily  upon  her  means.  Yet  hitherto 
she  had  never  been  in  debt,  and  by  great  care  and 
economy  she  still  contrived  to  keep  out  of  it.' 

Lady  Hester  having  apparently  decided  to  spend  the 
remainder  of  her  days  in  Syria,  Dr.  Meryon  informed 
her  that  he  was  anxious  to  return  to  his  own  country, 
but  that  he  would  not  leave  her  until  a  substitute  had 
been  engaged.  Accordingly,  Giorgio,  the  Greek  inter- 
preter, was  despatched  to  England  to  engage  the  doctor  s 
successor,  and  to  execute  a  number  of  commissions  for 
his  mistress.  During  the  autumn  Lady  Hester  was 
actively  employed  in  stirring  up  the  authorities  to  avenge 
the  death  of  a  French  traveller.  Colonel  Boutin,  who 
had  been  murdered  by  the  Ansarys  on  the  road  between 
Hamah  and  Laodicea.  As  the  pasha  of  the  district 
had  made  no  effort  to  trace  or  punish  the  murderers, 
she  had  taken  the  matter  into  her  own  hands,  holding 
that  the  common  cause  of  travellers  demanded  that  such 
a  crime  should  not  go  unpunished.  Dr.  Meryon  vainly 
tried  to  dissuade  her  from  this  course  of  action,  urging 
that  the  French  consuls  were  bound  to  sift  the  affair, 
and  that  she,  in  taking  so  active  a  part,  was  exposing 
herself  to  the  vengeance  of  the  mountain  tribes.  As 
usual,  the  only  effect  of  remonstrance  was  to  make  her 
more  determined  to  persevere  in  the  course  she  had 
marked  out  for  herself.  In  the  result,  she  succeeded  in 
inducing  the  pasha  to  send  a  punitive  expedition  into 
the  mountains,  and  herself  directed  the  commandant,  by 
information  secretly  obtained,  where  the  criminals  were 
238 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

to  be  found.  Mustafa  Aga  Berber,  governor  of  the 
district,  led  the  expedition,  and  carried  fire  and  sword 
into  the  Ansiry  country.  It  was  reported  that  he  burnt 
the  villages  of  the  assassins,  and  sent  several  heads  to 
the  pasha  as  tokens  of  his  victories.  Lady  Hester 
received  a  vote  of  thanks  from  the  French  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  after  a  speech  by  Comte  Delaborde,  explaining 
the  services  she  had  rendered. 

News  of  the  great  events  that  were  taking  place  in 
France  had  now  reached  Sayda,  and  Lady  Hester,  whose 
foible  it  was  to  think  that  the  successors  of  Pitt  could 
do  no  right,  was  highly  displeased  at  the  action  of  the 
British  Government.  She  gave  vent  to  her  sentiments 
in  the  following  letter,  dated  April  1816,  to  her  cousin 
the  Marquis  (afterwards  Duke)  of  Buckingham  : — 

'You  cannot  doubt  that  a  woman  of  my  character 
and  (I  presume  to  say)  understanding  must  have  held  in 
contempt  and  aversion  all  the  statesmen  of  the  present 
day,  whose  unbounded  ignorance  and  duplicity  have 
brought  ruin  on  France,  have  spread  their  own  shame 
through  all  Europe,  and  have  exposed  themselves  not 
only  to  ridicule,  but  to  the  curses  of  present  and  future 
generations.  One  great  mind,  one  single,  enlightened 
statesman,  whose  virtues  had  equalled  his  talents,  was 
all  that  was  wanting  to  effect,  at  this  unexampled 
period,  the  welfare  of  all  Europe,  by  taking  advantage 
of  events  the  most  extraordinary  that  have  occurred  in 
any  era.  .  .  .  Cease  therefore  to  torment  me.  I  will 
not  live  in  Europe,  even  were  I,  in  flying  from  it,  com- 
pelled to  beg  my  bread.  Once  only  will  I  go  to  France, 
to  see  you  and  James,  but  only  that  once.  I  will  not 
be  a  martyr  for  nothing.  The  granddaughter  of 
Chatham,  the  niece  of  the  illustrious  Pitt,  feels  herself 

289 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

blush  that  she  was  born  in  England — that  England  who 
has  made  her  accursed  gold  the  counterpoise  to  justice ; 
that  England  who  puts  weeping  humanity  in  irons,  who 
has  employed  the  valour  of  her  troops,  destined  for  the 
defence  of  her  national  honour,  as  the  instrument  to 
enslave  a  freeborn  people ;  and  who  has  exposed  to 
ridicule  and  humiliation  a  monarch  [Louis  xviii.]  who 
might  have  gained  the  goodwill  of  his  subjects  if  those 
intriguing  English  had  left  him  to  stand  or  fall  upon 
his  own  merits.' 

The  announcement  of  the  arrival  of  the  Princess  of 
Wales  at  Acre,  and  the  possibility  that  she  might  extend 
her  journey  to  Sayda,  induced  Lady  Hester  to  embark 
for  Antioch,  where  she  professed  to  have  business  with 
the  British  consul.  It  was  considered  an  act  of  great 
daring  on  her  part  to  go  into  a  district  inhabited 
entirely  by  the  Ansarys,  on  whom  she  had  lately 
wrought  so  signal  a  vengeance.  But  the  Ansarys  had 
apparently  no  desire  to  bring  upon  themselves  a  second 
punitive  expedition,  and  though  Lady  Hester  spent 
most  of  her  time  in  a  retired  cottage  outside  the  town, 
in  defiance  of  the  warning  that  her  life  was  in  danger, 
the  tribes  forbore  to  molest  her.  In  September  she 
returned  to  Mar  Elias ;  and,  a  few  weeks  later,  Giorgio 
returned  from  England,  bringing  with  him  an  English 
surgeon  and  twenty-seven  packing-cases  filled  with 
presents,  to  be  distributed  among  Lady  Hester's  Turkish 
friends  and  acquaintances.  On  January  18,  1817, 
Dr.  Meryon,  having  initiated  his  successor  into  Eastern 
manners  and  customs,  took  leave  of  his  employer,  and 
sailed  for  Europe,  little  thinking  that  he  would  ever  set 
foot  in  Syria  again. 

MO 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 


PART   II 

During  the  next  ten  or  twelve  years,  we  get  but  a  few 
scanty  glimpses  of  the  white  Queen  of  the  Desert. 
After  Dr.  Meryon's  departure,  Lady  Hester  removed  to 
a  house  in  the  village  of  Dar  Joon,  or  Djoun,  a  few 
miles  from  Mar  Elias.  To  this  house  she  added  con- 
siderably, laid  out  some  magnificent  gardens,  and 
enclosed  the  whole  within  high  walls,  after  the  manner 
of  a  mediaeval  fortress.  Here  she  seems  to  have  passed 
her  time  in  encouraging  the  Druzes  to  rise  against 
Ibrahim  Pasha,  intriguing  against  the  British  consuls, 
and  attempting  to  bolster  up  the  declining  authority  of 
the  Sultan.  In  the  intervals  of  political  business  she 
occupied  herself  with  superintending  her  building  and 
gardening  operations,  physicking  the  sick,  and  tyrannising 
over  her  numerous  servants.  At  Mar  Elias,  which  she 
still  kept  in  her  own  hands,  she  maintained  an  eccentric 
old  Frenchman,  General  Loustaunau,^  who  had  formerly 
been  in  the  service  of  a  Hindu  rajah,  but  who,  in  his 
forlorn  old  age,  had  wandered  to  Syria,  and  there,  by 
dint  of  applying  scriptural  texts  to  contemporary 
events,  had  earned  the  title  of  a  prophet.  Like  Samuel 
Brothers,  he  prophesied  marvellous  things  of  Lady 
Hester's  future,  which  she,  rendered  credulous  by  her 
solitary  life  in  a  mystic  land,  where  her  own  power  and 
importance  were  the  chief  facts  in  her  mental  horizon, 
came  at  length  to  believe. 

In   the    Memoirs   of  a  Babylonian   Princess   by  the 
Emira  Asmar,  daughter  of  the  Emir  Abdallah  Asmar, 
the  author  tells  us  that  as  a  girl  she  paid  a  long  visit 
*  Dr.  Meryon's  spelling. 

a  241 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

to  the  Emir  Beshyr,  prince  of  the  Druzes.  During  this 
visit,  which  apparently  took  place  in  the  early  '  twenties/ 
she  was  sent  with  a  present  of  fruit  to  a  neighbour's 
house,  and  there  found  a  guest,  a  tall  and  splendid 
figure,  arrayed  in  masculine  costume,  and  engaged  in 
smoking  a  narghila.  The  stranger,  who  talked  Arabic 
with  elegance  and  fluency,  discoursed  on  the  subject  of 
astrology,  and  tried  to  dissuade  the  Emira  from  taking 
a  projected  journey  to  the  west,  where  she  declared  the 
sun  had  set,  and  the  hearts  of  the  people  retained  not  a 
spark  of  the  virtues  of  their  forefathers.  '  Soon  after- 
wards,' continues  the  author,  '  she  rose,  and  took  her 
departure,  attended  by  a  large  retinue.  A  spirited 
charger  stood  at  the  gate,  champing  the  bit  with  fiery 
impatience.  She  put  her  foot  in  the  stirrup,  and  vault- 
ing nimbly  into  the  saddle,  which  she  bestrode  like  a 
man,  started  off  at  a  rapid  pace,  galloping  over  rocks 
and  mountains  in  advance  of  her  suite,  with  a  fearlessness 
and  address  that  would  have  done  honour  to  a  Mame- 
luke.' The  stranger  was,  of  course,  none  other  than  Lady 
Hester  Stanhope,  who,  at  that  time,  was  on  friendly  terms 
with  the  Emir  Beshyr,  afterwards  her  bitterest  enemy. 

In  1826  Lady  Hester  wrote  to  invite  Dr.  Meryon  to 
return  to  her  service  for  a  time,  and  he,  who  seems  all 
his  life  to  have  'heard  the  East  a-calling,'  could  not 
resist  the  invitation,  though  his  movements  were  now 
hampered  by  a  wife  and  children.  He  began  at  once  to 
make  preparations  for  his  departure,  but  was  unable  to 
start  before  September  1827.  Meanwhile,  Lady  Hester 
had  been  gulled  by  an  English  traveller,  designated  as 
'  X.'  in  her  letters,  who  had  induced  her  to  believe  that 
he  was  empowered  by  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  the  Duke  of 
Bedford,  and  a  committee  of  Freemasons,  to  offer  her 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

such  sums  as  would  extricate  her  out  of  her  embarrass- 
ments, and  to  settle  an  income  upon  her  for  life.  How 
a  woman  who  professed  to  have  an  almost  supernatural 
insight  into  the  characters  and  thoughts  of  men,  could 
have  been  deceived  by  this  story,  it  is  hard  to  understand  ; 
but  apparently  the  difficulties  of  her  situation,  occasioned 
by  her  custom  of  making  large  presents  to  the  pashas 
in  order  to  keep  up  her  authority,  as  well  as  by  her 
benevolence  to  the  poor  in  her  neighbourhood,  rendered 
her  willing  to  catch  at  any  straw  for  help.  This  *  X.** 
had  promised  to  send  her  a  hundred  purses  for  her 
current  expenses,  and  to  bring  out  from  England  masons 
and  carpenters  to  enlarge  her  dwelling,  in  order  that  she 
might  entertain  the  many  distinguished  people  who 
desired  to  come  and  see  her.  In  a  letter  to  Dr. 
Meryon  on  this  subject,  Lady  Hester  writes : — 

*  If  X.'s  story  is  true,  and  my  debts,  amounting  to 
nearly  cjPl  0,000,  are  to  be  paid,  then  I  shall  go  on  mak- 
ing sublime  and  philosophical  discoveries,  and  employing 
myself  in  deep,  abstract  studies.  In  that  case  I  shall 
want  a  mason,  carpenter,  etc.,  income  made  out  .£'4000 
a  year,  and  =£^1000  more  for  people  like  you,  and  <i?500 
ready  money  that  I  may  stand  clear.  In  the  event  that  all 
that  has  been  told  me  is  a  lie,  ...  I  shall  give  up 
everything  for  life  to  my  creditors,  and  throw  myself  as 
a  beggar  on  Asiatic  charity,  and  wander  far  without 
one  parra  in  my  pocket,  with  the  mare  from  the  stable  of 
Solomon  in  one  hand,  and  a  sheaf  of  the  com  of  Beni- 
Israel  in  the  other.  I  shall  meet  death,  or  that  which 
I  believe  to  be  written,  which  no  mortal  can  efface."* 

On  September  7,  Dr.  Meryon  and  his  family  em- 
barked at  Leghorn  for  Cyprus,  but  on  nearing  Candia 
their  merchant  brig,  which  was  taking  out  stores  to  the 

248 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

Turks,  was  attacked  by  a  Greek  vessel,  whose  officers 
took  possession  of  the  cargo,  and  also  of  all  the 
passengers'  property,  except  that  belonging  to  the 
English  party,  which  they  left  unmolested.  The  Italian 
captain  was  obliged  to  put  back  to  Leghorn,  and  here 
Dr.  Meryon  heard  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Navarino, 
and  of  the  shelter  afforded  by  Lady  Hester  Stanhope  to 
two  hundred  refugee  Europeans  from  Sayda.  By  this 
time  she  was  at  daggers-drawn  with  the  Emir  Beshyr, 
whose  rival  she  had  helped  and  protected.  The  Emir 
revenged  himself  by  publishing  in  the  village  an  order 
that  all  her  native  servants  were  to  return  to  their 
homes,  upon  pain  of  losing  their  property  and  their 
lives.  '  I  gave  them  all  their  option,"*  she  writes.  '  And 
most  of  them  remained  firm.  Since  that,  he  has  threat- 
ened to  seize  and  murder  them  here,  which  he  shall  not 
do  without  taking  my  life  too.  Besides  this,  he  has 
given  orders  in  all  the  villages  that  men,  women,  and 
children  who  render  me  the  smallest  service  shall  be  cut 
in  a  thousand  pieces.  My  servants  cannot  go  out,  and 
the  peasants  cannot  approach  the  house.  Therefore, 
I  am  in  no  very  pleasant  situation,  being  deprived  of 
the  necessary  supplies  of  food,  and  what  is  worse, 
of  water ;  for  all  the  water  here  is  brought  on  mules' 
backs  up  a  great  steep." 

Dr.  Meryon  was  unable  to  resume  his  voyage  at  this 
time,  but  in  1828,  the  news  that  a  malignant  fever 
had  attacked  the  household  at  Joon,  and  carried  off 
Lady  Hester's  companion,  Miss  Williams,  gave  rise  to 
fresh  plans  for  a  visit  to  Syria.  The  doctor  had,  how- 
ever, so  much  difficulty  in  overcoming  his  wife's  fears 
of  the  voyage,  that  it  was  not  until  November,  1830, 
that  he  could  induce  her  to  embark  at  Marseilles  on  a 
244 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

vessel  bound  for  the  East.  The  party  arrived  at 
Beyrout  on  December  8,  and  found  that  Lady  Hester 
had  sent  camels  and  asses  to  bring  them  on  their  way, 
together  with  a  characteristic  note  to  the  effect  that  it 
would  give  her  much  pleasure  to  see  the  doctor,  but 
that,  as  for  his  family,  they  must  not  expect  any 
other  attentions  than  such  as  would  make  them  com- 
fortable in  their  new  home.  She  hoped  that  Dr. 
Meryon  would  not  take  this  ill,  as  she  had  warned  him 
that  she  did  not  think  English  ladies  could  make  them- 
selves happy  in  Syria,  and,  therefore,  he  who  had  chosen 
to  bring  them  must  take  the  consequences.  This  letter 
was  but  the  first  of  a  long  series  of  affronts  put  upon 
Mrs.  Meryon,  the  result  of  Lady  Hester's  dislike  of  her 
own  sex,  and  probably  also  of  her  objection  to  the 
presence  of  another  Englishwoman  in  a  spot  where  she 
had  reigned  so  long  as  the  only  specimen  of  her  race. 

A  cottage  had  been  provided  in  the  village  of  Joon 
for  the  travellers,  and  the  ladies  were  escorted  thither 
by  the  French  secretary,  while  the  doctor  hastened  to 
report  himself  to  Lady  Hester,  who  received  him  with 
the  greatest  cordiality,  kissing  him  on  both  cheeks,  and 
placing  him  beside  her  on  the  sofa.  Remembering  her 
overweening  pride  of  birth,  he  was  astonished  at  his 
reception,  more  especially  as,  in  the  early  part  of  her 
travels,  she  had  never  even  condescended  to  take  his 
arm,  that  honour  being  reser\ed  exclusively  for  members 
of  the  aristocracy.  He  found  her  ladyship  in  good 
health  and  spirits,  but  barely  provided  with  the  neces- 
saries of  life,  having  been  robbed  of  nearly  all  her 
articles  of  value  by  the  native  servants  during  her  last 
illness.  A  rush-bottomed  chair,  a  deal  table,  dishes  of 
common   yellow  earthenware,  bone-handled  knives  and 

S45 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

forks,  and  two  or  three  silver  spoons,  were  all  that 
remained  of  her  former  grandeur,  and  the  dinner  was  on 
a  par  with  the  furniture. 

The  house,  which  had  been  hired  at  a  rental  of  £^0 
from  a  Turkish  merchant,  had  been  greatly  enlarged, 
and  the  gardens,  with  their  summer-houses,  covered 
alleys,  and  serpentine  walks,  were  superior  to  most  English 
gardens  of  the  same  size.  Lady  Hester's  constant  out- 
lay in  building  arose  from  her  idea  that  people  would 
fly  to  her  for  succour  and  protection  during  the  revolu- 
tions that  she  believed  to  be  impending  all  over  the 
world ;  her  camels,  asses,  and  mules  were  kept  with  the 
same  view,  and  her  servants  were  taught  to  look  forward 
with  awe  to  events  of  a  supernatural  nature,  when  their 
services  and  energies  would  be  taxed  to  the  utmost.  In 
choosing  a  solitary  life  in  the  wilderness,  far  removed 
from  all  the  comforts  and  pleasures  of  civilisation.  Lady 
Hester  seems  to  have  been  actuated  by  her  craving  for 
absolute  power,  which  could  not  be  gratified  in  any 
European  community.  It  was  her  pleasure  to  dwell 
apart,  surrounded  by  dependants  and  slaves,  and  out  of 
reach  of  that  influence  and  restraint  which  are  neces- 
sarily endured  by  each  member  of  a  civilised  society. 
She  had  become  more  violent  in  her  temper  than 
formerly,  and  treated  her  servants  with  great  severity 
when  they  were  negligent  of  their  duties.  Her  maids 
and  female  slaves  she  punished  summarily,  and  boasted 
that  there  was  nobody  who  could  give  such  a  slap  in 
the  face,  when  required,  as  she  could.  At  Mar  Elias 
her  servants,  when  tired  of  her  tyranny,  frequently 
absconded  by  night,  and  took  refuge  in  Sayda,  only  two 
miles  away ;  but  at  Dar  Joon  their  retreat  was  cut  off" 
by  mountain  tracts,  inhabited  only  by  wolves  and 
^46 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

jackals,  and  they  were  consequently  almost  helpless  in 
the  hands  of  their  stem  mistress.  The  establishment  at 
this  time  consisted  of  between  thirty  and  forty  servants, 
labourers,  and  slaves,  most  of  whom  are  described  as 
dirty,  lazy,  and  dishonest.  Between  them  they  did 
badly  the  work  that  half-a-dozen  Europeans  would  have 
done  respectably,  but  then  the  Europeans  would  not 
have  stood  the  slaps  and  scoldings  that  the  natives  took 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

For  the  last  fifteen  years  Lady  Hester  had  seldom 
left  her  bed  till  between  two  and  five  ©""clock  in  the 
afternoon,  nor  returned  to  it  before  the  same  hour 
next  morning ;  while  for  four  years  she  had  never 
stirred  beyond  the  precincts  of  her  own  domain,  though 
she  took  some  air  and  exercise  in  the  garden.  Except 
when  she  was  asleep,  her  bell  was  incessantly  ringing, 
her  servants  were  running  to  and  fro,  and  the  whole 
house  was  kept  in  commotion.  During  the  greater 
part  of  the  day  she  sat  up  in  bed,  writing,  talking, 
scolding,  and  interviewing  her  work-people.  Few  of 
her  employvs  escaped  from  her  presence  without  reproof, 
and  as  no  one  was  allowed  to  exercise  his  own  discretion 
in  his  work,  her  directing  spirit  was  always  in  the  full 
flow  of  activity.  *  On  one  and  the  same  day,"  says  Dr. 
Meryon,  *  I  have  known  her  to  dictate  papers  that  con- 
cerned the  political  welfare  of  a  pashalik,  and  descend 
to  trivial  details  about  the  composition  of  a  house-paint, 
the  making  of  butter,  drenching  a  sick  horse,  choosing 
lambs,  or  cutting  out  a  maid''s  apron.  The  marked 
characteristic  of  her  mind  was  the  necessity  that  she 
laboured  under  of  incessantly  talking.**  Her  conversa- 
tions, we  are  told,  frequently  lasted  for  seven  or  eight 
hours  at  a  stretch,  and  at  least  one  of  her  visitors  was 

247 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

kept  so  long  in  discourse  that  he  fainted  away  with 
fatigue.  Dr.  Meryon  bears  witness  to  her  marvellous 
colloquial  powers,  her  fund  of  anecdote,  and  her  talent 
for  mimicry,  but  observes  that  every  one  who  conversed 
with  her  retired  humbled  from  her  presence,  since  her 
language  was  always  calculated  to  bring  men  down  to  their 
proper  level,  to  strip  off  affectation,  and  to  expose  conceit. 

At  this  time  her  political  influence  was  on  the  wane, 
but  a  few  years  previously,  when  her  financial  affairs 
were  in  a  more  flourishing  condition,  and  when  it  was 
observed  that  the  pashas  valued  her  opinion  and  feared 
her  censure,  she  had  obtained  an  almost  despotic  power 
over  the  neighbouring  tribes.  A  remarkable  proof  of 
her  personal  courage,  and  also  of  the  supernatural 
awe  with  which  she  was  regarded,  was  shown  by  her 
open  defiance  of  the  Emir  Beshyr,  in  whose  princi- 
pality she  lived,  but  who  was  unable  to  reduce  her, 
either  by  threats  or  persecution,  to  even  a  nominal 
submission  to  his  rule.  Not  only  did  she  give  public 
utterance  to  her  contemptuous  opinion  of  the  Emir, 
but  she  openly  assisted  his  relation  and  rival,  the 
Sheikh  Beshyr;  yet  no  vengeance  either  of  the  bow- 
string or  the  poisoned  cup  rewarded  her  rebellion  or 
her  intrigues. 

Her  religious  views,  at  this  time,  were  decidedly 
complicated  in  character.  She  firmly  believed  in 
astrology,  of  which  she  had  made  a  special  study,  and 
to  some  extent  in  demonology.  But  more  remarkable 
was  her  faith  in  the  early  coming  of  a  Messiah,  or 
Mahedi,  on  which  occasion  she  expected  to  play  a 
glorious  part.  The  prophecies  of  Samuel  Brothers  and 
of  General  Loustaunau  had  taken  firm  possession  of  her 
mind,  more  especially  since  their  words  had  been  corro- 


I 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

borated  by  a  native  soothsayer,  Metta  by  name,  who 
brought  her  an  Arabic  book  which,  he  said,  contained 
illusions  to  herself.  Finding  a  credulous  listener,  he 
read  and  expounded  a  passage  relating  to  a  European 
woman  who  was  to  come  and  live  on  Mount  Lebanon 
at  a  certain  epoch,  and  obtain  power  and  influence 
greater  than  a  sultan's.  A  boy  without  a  father  was 
to  join  her  there,  whose  destiny  was  to  be  fulfilled 
under  her  wing ;  while  the  coming  of  the  Mahedi,  who 
was  to  ride  into  Jerusalem  on  a  horse  bom  saddled, 
would  be  preceded  by  famine,  pestilence,  and  other 
calamities.  For  a  long  time  Lady  Hester  was  per- 
suaded that  the  Due  de  Reichstadt  was  the  boy  in 
question,  but  after  his  death  she  fixed  upon  another 
youth.  In  expectation  of  the  coming  of  the  Mahedi 
she  kept  two  thoroughbred  mares,  which  no  one  was 
suffered  to  mount.  One  of  these  animals,  named  Laila, 
had  a  curious  malformation  of  the  back,  not  unlike  a 
Turkish  saddle  in  shape,  and  was  destined  by  its  mistress 
to  bear  the  Mahedi  into  Jerusalem,  while  on  the  other. 
Lulu,  Lady  Hester  expected  to  ride  by  his  side  on  the 
great  day.  *  Hundreds  and  thousands  of  distressed 
persons,'*  she  was  accustomed  to  say,  '  will  come  to  me  for 
assistance  and  shelter.  I  shall  have  to  wade  in  blood, 
but  it  is  the  will  of  God,  and  I  shall  not  be  afraid.** 
Borne  up  by  these  glorious  expectations,  she  never  dis- 
cussed her  debts,  her  illnesses,  and  her  other  trials, 
without  at  the  same  time  picturing  to  herself  a  brighter 
future,  when  the  neglect  with  which  she  had  been 
treated  by  her  family  would  meet  with  its  just  punish- 
ment, and  her  star  would  rise  again  to  gladden  the 
world,  and  more  especially  those  who  had  been  faithful 
to  her  in  the  time  of  adversity. 

ie49 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Meryon  was  settled  in  her  new 
home,  and  had  recovered  from  the  fatigue  of  the 
journey,  Lady  Hester  appointed  a  day  for  her  reception. 
What  happened  at  the  momentous  interview  we  are 
not  told,  except  that  at  the  close  Lady  Hester  attired 
her  visitor  in  a  handsome  Turkish  spencer  of  gold 
brocade,  and  wound  an  embroidered  muslin  turban 
round  her  head.  Unfortunately,  Mrs.  Meryon,  not 
understanding  the  Eastern  custom  of  robing  honoured 
guests,  took  off'  the  garments  before  she  went  away, 
and  laid  them  on  a  table,  a  grievous  breach  of  etiquette 
in  her  hostess's  eyes.  Still,  matters  went  on  fairly 
smoothly  until,  about  the  end  of  January,  a  messenger 
came  from  Damascus  to  ask  that  Dr.  Meryon  might  be 
allowed  to  go  thither  to  cure  a  friend  of  the  pasha's, 
who  had  an  affection  of  the  mouth.  Lady  Hester  was 
anxious  that  the  doctor  should  obey  the  call,  but, 
greatly  to  her  annoyance,  he  entirely  declined  to  leave 
his  wife  and  children  alone  for  three  or  four  weeks  in 
a  strange  land,  where  they  could  not  make  themselves 
understood  by  the  people  about  them.  In  vain  Lady 
Hester  tried  to  frighten  Mrs.  Meryon  into  consenting 
to  her  husband's  departure  by  assuring  her  that  there 
were  Dervishes  who  could  inflict  all  sorts  of  evil  on 
her  by  means  of  charms,  if  she  persisted  in  her  refusal. 
Mrs.  Meryon  quietly  replied  that  her  husband  could  go 
if  he  chose,  but  that  it  would  not  be  with  her  good- 
will. From  that  hour  was  begun  a  system  of  hostility 
towards  the  doctor's  wife,  which  never  ceased  until  her 
departure  from  the  country. 

Lady  Hester  was  not  above  taking  a  leaf  out  of  the 
book  of  her  own  enemy,  the  Emir  Beshyr,  for  she  used 
her  influence  to  prevent  the  villagers  from  supplying 
250 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

the  wants  of  the  recalcitrant  family,  who  now  began  to 
make  preparations  for  their  departure.  They  were 
obliged,  however,  to  wait  for  remittances  from  England, 
and  also  for  Lady  Hester's  consent  to  their  leaving 
Joon,  since  none  of  the  natives  would  have  dared  lend 
their  camels  or  mules  for  such  a  purpose,  and  even  the 
consular  agents  at  Sayda  would  have  declined  to  mix 
themselves  up  in  any  business  which  might  bring  upon 
them  the  vengeance  of  the  Queen  of  the  Desert.  Mean- 
while, a  truce  seems  to  have  been  concluded  between 
the  principals,  and  Lady  Hester  again  invited  the 
doctor's  visits,  contenting  herself  with  sarcastic  remarks 
about  henpecked  husbands,  and  the  caprices  of  foolish 
women.  She  graciously  consented  to  dispense  with  his 
services  about  the  beginning  of  April,  and  promised  to 
engage  a  vessel  at  Sayda  to  convey  him  and  his  family 
to  Cyprus.  Before  his  departure  she  produced  a  list 
of  her  debts,  which  then  amounted  to  =£*!  4,000.  The 
greater  part  of  this  sum,  which  had  been  borrowed  at 
a  high  rate  of  interest  from  native  usurers,  had  l)een 
spent  in  assisting  Abdallah  Pasha,  the  family  of  the 
Sheikh  Beshyr,  and  many  other  victims  of  political 
malignity. 

The  unwonted  luxury  of  an  admiring  and  submissive 
listener  led  the  lonely  woman  to  discourse  of  the  glories 
of  her  youth,  and  the  virtues  of  her  hero- in-chief, 
William  Pitt.  She  spoke  of  his  passion  for  Miss  Eden, 
daughter  of  Lord  Auckland,  who,  she  said,  was  the 
only  woman  she  could  have  wished  him  to  marry. 
*  Poor  Mr.  Pitt  almost  broke  his  heart,  when  he  gave 
her  up,**  she  declaretl.  '  But  he  considered  that  she 
was  not  a  woman  to  be  left  at  will  when  business 
might   require  it,  and  he  sacrificed   his  feelings  to  his 

251 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

sense  of  public  duty.  ..."  There  were  also  other 
reasons,"  Mr.  Pitt  would  say ;  "  there  is  her  mother, 
such  a  chatterer ! — and  then  the  family  intrigues.  I 
can't  keep  them  out  of  my  house ;  and,  for  my  king 
and  country's  sake,  I  must  remain  a  free  man."  Yet 
Mr.  Pitt  was  a  man  just  made  for  domestic  life,  who 
would  have  enjoyed  retirement,  digging  his  own  garden, 
and  doing  it  cleverly  too.  .  .  .  He  had  so  much  urbanity 
too  !  I  recollect  returning  late  from  a  ball,  when  he 
was  gone  to  bed  fatigued  ;  there  were  others  besides 
myself,  and  we  made  a  good  deal  of  noise.  I  said  to 
him  next  morning,  "  I  am  afraid  we  disturbed  you  last 
night."  "  Not  at  all,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  was  dreaming  of 
the  masque  of  Cornus,  and  when  I  heard  you  all  so 
gay,  it  seemed  a  pleasant  reality.  .  .  ."  Nobody  would 
have  suspected  how  much  feeling  he  had  for  people's 
comforts,  who  came  to  see  him.  Sometimes  he  would 
say  to  me,  "  Hester,  you  know  we  have  got  such  a  one 
coming  down.  I  believe  his  wound  is  hardly  well  yet, 
and  I  heard  him  say  that  he  felt  much  relieved  by 
fomentations  of  such  an  herb ;  perhaps  you  will  see 
that  he  finds  in  his  chamber  all  that  he  wants."  Of 
another  he  would  say,  "  I  think  he  drinks  asses'  milk ; 
I  should  like  him  to  have  his  morning  draught."  And 
I,  who  was  born  with  such  sensibility  that  I  must  fidget 
myself  about  everybody,  was  sure  to  exceed  his  wishes.' 

After  describing  Mr.  Pitt's  kindness  and  considera- 
tion towards  his  household.  Lady  Hester  related  a 
pathetic  history  of  a  faithful  servant,  who,  in  the 
pecuniary  distress  of  his  master,  had  served  him  for 
several  years  with  the  purest  disinterestedness.  '  I  was 
so  touched  by  her  eloquent  and  forcible  manner  of 
recounting  the  story,'  writes  the  soft-hearted  doctor, 
252 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

'and  with  the  application  I  made  of  it  to  my  own 
tardiness  in  going  to  her  in  her  distress,  together  with 
my  present  intention  of  leaving  her,  that  I  burst  into 
tears,  and  wept  bitterly.  She  soothed  my  feelings, 
endeavoured  to  calm  my  emotions,  and  disclaimed  all 
intention  of  conveying  any  allusion  to  me.  This  led 
her  to  say  how  little  malice  she  ever  entertained  towards 
any  one,  even  those  who  had  done  her  injury,  much  less 
towards  me,  who  had  always  shown  my  attachment  to 
her;  and  she  added  that,  even  now,  although  she  was 
going  to  lose  me,  her  thoughts  did  not  run  so  much  on 
her  own  situation  as  on  what  would  become  of  me ;  and 
I  firmly  believed  her."* 

Dr.  Meryon  sailed  from  Sayda  on  April  7,  1831, 
and  for  the  next  six  years  we  only  hear  of  the  strange 
household  on  Mount  Lebanon  through  the  reports  of 
chance  visitors.  After  the  siege  of  Acre  by  Ibrahim 
Pasha  in  the  winter  of  1831-32,  the  remnant  of  the 
population  fled  to  the  mountains,  and  Lady  Hester, 
whose  hospitality  was  always  open  to  the  distressed, 
declares  that  for  three  years  her  house  was  like  the 
Tower  of  Babel.  In  1832  Lamartine  paid  a  visit  to 
Joon,  which  he  has  described  in  his  Voyage  en  Orient, 
He  seems  to  have  been  graciously  received,  though  his 
hostess  candidly  informed  him  that  she  had  never  heard 
his  name  before.  He  explained,  rather  to  her  amuse- 
ment, that  he  had  written  verses  which  were  in  the 
mouths  of  thousands  of  his  countrymen,  and  she  having 
read  his  character  and  destiny,  assured  him  that  his 
Arabian  descent  was  proved  by  the  high  arch  of  his 
instep,  and  that,  like  every  Arab,  he  was  a  poet  by 
nature.  Lamartine,  in  return,  represents  himself  as 
profoundly  impressed  by  his  interview  with  this  *  Circe 

253 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

of  the  East,'  denies  that  he  perceived  in  her  any  traces 
of  insanity,  and  declares  that  he  should  not  be  surprised 
if  a  part  of  the  destiny  she  prophesied  for  herself  were 
realised — at  least  to  the  extent  of  an  empire  in  Arabia, 
or  a  throne  in  Jerusalem. 

Lady  Hester  formed  a  less  favourable  opinion  of 
M.  Lamartine  than  she  allowed  him  to  perceive,  and 
she  was  greatly  annoyed  at  the  passages  referring  to 
herself  that  appeared  in  his  book.  Speaking  of  him 
and  his  visit  some  years  later,  she  observed :  '  The 
people  of  Europe  are  all,  or  at  least  the  greater  part 
of  them,  fools,  with  their  ridiculous  grins,  their  aiFected 
ways,  and  their  senseless  habits.  .  .  .  Look  at  M. 
Lamartine  getting  off  his  horse  half-a-dozen  times  to 
kiss  his  dog,  and  take  him  out  of  his  bandbox  to  feed 
him,  on  the  route  from  Beyrout ;  the  very  muleteers 
thought  him  a  fool.  And  then  that  way  of  thrusting 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  sticking  out  his  legs  as 
far  as  he  could — what  is  that  like  ?  M.  Lamartine  is 
no  poet,  in  my  estimation,  though  he  may  be  an  elegant 
versifier ;  he  has  no  sublime  ideas.  Compare  his  ideas 
with  Shakespeare's — that  was  indeed  a  real  poet.  .  .  . 
M.  Lamartine,  with  his  straight  body  and  straight 
fingers,  pointed  his  toes  in  my  face,  and  then  turned  to 
his  dog,  and  held  long  conversations  with  him.  He 
thought  to  make  a  great  effect  when  he  was  here,  but 
he  was  grievously  mistaken.'  It  may  be  noted  that  all 
Lady  Hester's  male  visitors  *  pointed  their  toes  in  her 
face,'  in  the  hope  of  being  accredited  with  the  arched 
instep  that  she  held  to  be  the  most  striking  proof  of  long 
descent.  Her  own  instep,  she  was  accustomed  to  boast, 
was  so  high  that  a  little  kitten  could  run  underneath  it. 

A  far  more  lifelike  and  picturesque  portrait  of  Lady 
254 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

Hester  than  that  by  Lamartine  has  been  sketched  for 
us  by  Kinglake  in  his  Eothen.  In  a  charming  passage 
which  will  be  familiar  to  most  readers,  he  relates  how 
the  name  of  Lady  Hester  Stanhope  was  as  delight- 
ful to  his  childish  ears  as  that  of  Robinson  Crusoe. 
Chief  among  the  excitements  of  his  early  days  were  the 
letters  and  presents  of  the  Queen  of  the  Desert,  who 
as  a  girl  had  been  much  with  her  grandmother,  Lady 
Chatham,  at  Burton  Pynsent,  and  there  had  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Woodforde  of  Taunton,  after- 
wards Mrs.  Kinglake.  The  tradition  of  her  high 
spirit  and  fine  horsemanship  still  lingered  in  Somer- 
setshire memories,  but  Kinglake  had  heard  nothing  of 
her  for  many  years,  when,  on  arriving  at  Beyrout  in 
1835,  he  found  that  her  name  was  in  every  mouth. 
Anxious  to  see  this  romantic  vision  of  his  childhood, 
he  wrote  to  Lady  Hester,  and  asked  if  she  would  re- 
ceive his  mother's  son.  A  few  days  later,  in  response 
to  a  gracious  letter  of  invitation,  Kinglake  made  his 
pilgrimage  to  Joon. 

The  house  at  this  time,  after  the  storm  and  stress  of 
the  Egyptian  invasion,  had  the  appearance  of  a  deserted 
fortress,  and  fierce-looking  Albanian  soldiers  were 
hanging  about  the  gates.  Kinglake  was  conducted  to 
an  inner  apartment  where,  in  the  dim  light,  he  perceived 
an  Oriental  figure,  clad  in  masculine  costume,  which 
advanced  to  meet  him  with  many  and  profound  bows. 
The  visitor  began  a  polite  speech  which  he  had  prepared 
for  his  hostess,  but  presently  discovered  that  the 
stranger  was  only  her  Italian  attendant,  Lunardi,  who 
had  conferred  on  himself  a  medical  title  and  degree. 
Lady  Hester  had  given  orders  that  her  guest  should 
rest  and  dine  before  being  introduced   to  her,  and  he 

255 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

tells  us  that,  in  spite  of  the  homeliness  of  her  domestic 
arrangements,  he  found  both  the  wine  and  the  cuisine 
very  good.  After  dinner  he  was  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  his  hostess,  who  welcomed  him  cordially, 
and  had  exactly  the  appearance  of  a  prophetess,  '  not 
the  divine  Sibyl  of  Domenichino,  but  a  good,  business- 
like, practical  prophetess.'  Her  face  was  of  astonish- 
ing whiteness,  her  dress  a  mass  of  white  linen  loosely 
folded  round  her  like  a  surplice.  As  he  gazed  upon 
her,  he  recalled  the  stories  that  he  had  heard  of 
her  early  days,  of  the  capable  manner  in  which  she 
had  arranged  the  political  banquets  and  receptions 
of  Pitt,  and  the  awe  with  which  the  Tory  country 
gentlemen  had  regarded  her.  That  awe  had  been 
transferred  to  the  sheikhs  and  pashas  of  the  East,  but 
now  that,  with  age  and  poverty,  her  earthly  power  was 
fading  away,  she  had  created  for  herself  a  spiritual 
kingdom. 

After  a  few  inquiries  about  her  Somersetshire  friends, 
the  prophetess  soared  into  loftier  spheres,  and  dis- 
coursed of  astrology  and  other  occult  sciences.  *For 
hours  and  hours  this  wonderful  white  woman  poured 
forth  her  speech,  for  the  most  part  concerning  sacred 
and  profane  mysteries."  From  time  to  time  she  would 
swoop  down  to  worldly  topics,  '  and  then,''  as  her 
auditor  frankly  observes,  'I  was  interested."  She  de- 
scribed her  life  in  the  Arab  camps,  and  explained  that 
her  influence  over  the  tribes  was  partly  due  to  her  long 
sight,  a  quality  held  in  high  esteem  in  the  desert,  and 
partly  to  a  brusque,  downright  manner,  which  is  always 
effective  with  Orientals.  She  professed  to  have  fasted 
physically  and  mentally  for  years,  living  only  on  milk, 
and  reading  neither  books  nor  newspapers.  Her  unholy 
256 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

claim  to  supremacy  in  the  spiritual  kingdom  was  based, 
in  Kinglake's  opinion,  on  her  fierce,  inordinate  pride, 
perilously  akin  to  madness,  though  her  mind  was  too 
strong  to  be  entirely  overcome.  As  a  proof  of  Lady 
Hester's  high  courage,  he  notes  the  fact  that,  after  the 
fall  of  Acre,  her  house  was  the  only  spot  in  Syria  and 
Palestine  where  the  will  of  Mehemet  AH  and  his  fierce 
lieutenant  was  not  law.  Ibrahim  Pasha  had  demanded 
that  the  Albanian  soldiers  should  be  given  up,  and  their 
protectress  had  challenged  him  to  come  and  take  them. 
This  hillock  of  Dar  Joon  always  kept  its  freedom  as 
long  as  Chatham's  granddaughter  lived,  and  Mehemet 
AH  confessed  that  the  Englishwoman  had  given  him 
more  trouble  than  all  the  insurgents  of  Syria.  King- 
lake  did  not  see  the  famous  sacred  mares,  but  before  his 
departure  he  was  shown  the  gardens  by  the  Italian 
secretary,  who  was  in  great  distress  of  mind  because  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  implicitly  in  his 
employer's  divine  attributes.  He  said  that  Lady  Hester 
was  regarded  with  mingled  respect  and  dislike  by  the 
neighbours,  whom  she  oppressed  by  her  exactions.  The 
few  'respected'  inhabitants  of  Mount  Lebanon  ap- 
parently claimed  the  right  to  avail  themselves  of  their 
neighbours'  goods ;  and  the  White  Queen's  establish- 
ment was  supported  by  contributions  from  the  surround- 
ing villages.  This  is  quite  a  different  account  from 
that  given  by  Dr.  Meryon,  who  always  represents  Lady 
Hester  as  a  generous  benefactress,  admired  and  adored 
in  all  the  country-side. 

In  1836  Lady  Hester  discovered  another  mare's  nest 

in   the  shape  of  a  legacy   which  she  chose   to  believe 

was  being  kept  from  her  by  her  enemies.     In  August 

of  this  year  she  wrote  to  Dr.  Meryon,  who  was  then 

R  257 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

living  at  Nice,  and  invited  him  to  come  and  assist  her 
in  settling  her  debts,  and  getting  possession  of  this 
supposititious  property.  '  A  woman  of  high  rank  and 
good  fortune,"*  she  continues,  '  who  has  built  herself  a 
palais  in  a  remote  part  of  America,  has  announced  her 
intention  of  passing  the  rest  of  her  life  with  me,  so 
much  has  she  been  struck  with  my  situation  and 
conduct.^  She  is  nearly  of  my  age,  and  thirty-seven 
years  ago — I  being  personally  unknown  to  her — was  so 
taken  with  my  general  appearance,  that  she  never  could 
divest  herself  of  the  thoughts  of  me,  which  have  ever 
since  pursued  her.  At  last,  informed  by  M.  Lamartine's 
book  where  I  was  to  be  found,  she  took  this  extra- 
ordinary determination,  and  in  the  spring  I  expect  her. 
She  is  now  selling  her  large  landed  estate,  preparatory 
to  her  coming.  She,  as  well  as  Leila  the  mare,  is  in 
the  prophecy.  The  beautiful  boy  has  also  written,  and 
is  wandering  over  the  face  of  the  globe  till  destiny 
marks  the  period  of  our  meeting.  ...  I  am  reckoned 
here  the  first  politician  in  the  world,  and  by  some  a  sort 
of  prophet.  Even  the  Emir  wonders,  and  is  astonished, 
for  he  was  not  aware  of  this  extraordinary  gift ;  but  yet 
all  say — I  mean  enemies — that  I  am  worse  than  a  lion 
when  in  a  passion,  and  that  they  cannot  deny  I  have 
justice  on  my  side.'' 

After  his  former  experience  of  Lady  Hester''s  hospi- 
tality it  is  surprising  that  the  doctor  should  have  been 
willing  to  accept  this  invitation,  and  still  more  surprising 
that  his  wife  should  have  consented  to  accompany  him 
to  Syria.  But  the  East  was  still  '  a- calling,'  and  the 
almost  hypnotic  influence  which  her  ladyship  exercised 

^  This  was  the  Baroness  de  Feriat,   who  did    not  carry    out    her 
intention. 

258 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

over  her  dependants  seems  to  have  lost  none  of  its 
efficacy.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  Meryons  could 
arrange  their  affairs,  they  embarked  at  Marseilles,  land- 
ing at  Beyrout  on  July  1,  1837.  Here  the  doctor 
received  a  letter  from  Lady  Hester,  recommending  him 
to  leave  his  family  at  Beyrout  till  he  could  find  a  house 
for  them  at  Sayda.  *  For  your  sake,"  she  continued,  *  I 
should  ever  wish  to  show  civility  to  all  who  belong  to 
you,  but  caprice  I  will  never  interfere  with,  for  from  my 
early  youth  I  have  been  taught  to  despise  it.'  Here  was 
signal  proof  that  the  past  had  not  been  forgotten,  and 
that  war  was  still  to  be  waged  against  the  unfortunate 
Mrs.  Meryon.  In  defiance  of  Lady  Hester's  orders,  the 
whole  family  proceeded  to  Sayda,  whence  Dr.  Meryon 
rode  over  to  Dar  Joon.  He  received  a  warm  personal 
welcome,  but  his  hostess  persisted  in  her  statement  that 
there  was  no  house  in  the  village  fit  for  the  reception  of 
his  womenkind,  as  nearly  all  had  been  damaged  by  recent 
earthquakes.  It  was  finally  arranged  that  Mrs.  Meryon 
and  her  children  should  go  for  the  present  to  Mar 
Elias,  which  was  then  only  occupied  by  the  Prophet 
Loustaunau. 

At  this  time  I^y  Hester's  financial  affairs  were 
becoming  desperate,  and  she  had  even  been  reduced  to 
selling  some  of  her  handsome  pelisses.  Yet  she  still 
maintained  between  thirty  and  forty  servants,  and  when 
it  was  suggested  to  her  that  she  might  reduce  her  estab- 
lishment, she  was  accustomed  to  reply,  *  But  my  rank  !' 
Her  live-stock  included  the  two  sacred  mares,  three 
*  amblers,'  five  asses,  a  flock  of  sheep,  and  a  few  cows. 
A  herd  of  a  hundred  goats  had  recently  been  slaughtereil 
in  one  day,  because  their  owner  fancied  that  she  was 
being  cheated  by  her  goatherd.     Now  she  decided  to 

259 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

have  the  three  '  amblers  "*  shot,  because  the  grooms 
treated  them  improperly.  The  under-bailiff  received 
orders  to  whisper  into  the  ear  of  each  horse  before  his 
execution,  '  You  have  worked  enough  upon  the  earth ; 
your  mistress  fears  you  might  fall,  in  your  old  age,  into 
the  hands  of  cruel  men,  and  she  therefore  dismisses  you 
from  her  service."*  This  order  was  carried  out  to  the 
letter,  with  imperturbable  gravity. 

After  a  short  experience  of  the  inconvenience  of  riding 
to  and  fro  between  Joon  and  Mar  Elias,  Dr.  Meryon 
persuaded  his  employer  to  allow  him  to  bring  his  family 
to  a  cottage  in  the  village;  but  the  nearer  the  time 
approached  for  their  arrival,  the  more  she  seemed  to 
regret  having  assented  to  the  arrangement.  Frequent 
and  scathing  were  her  lectures  upon  the  exigent  ways  of 
women,  who,  she  argued,  should  be  simple  automata, 
moved  only  by  the  will  and  guidance  of  their  masters. 
She  lost  no  opportunity  of  throwing  ridicule  on 
Dr.  Meryon's  desire  to  have  his  family  near  him,  in 
order  that  he  might  pass  his  evenings  with  them,  point- 
ing out  that  '  all  sensible  men  take  their  meals  with 
their  wives,  and  then  retire  to  their  own  rooms  to 
read,  write,  or  do  what  best  pleases  them.  Nobody  is 
such  a  fool  as  to  moider  away  his  time  in  the  slipslop 
conversation  of  a  pack  of  women."  Petty  jealousies, 
quite  inconsistent  with  her  boasted  philosophy,  were  per- 
petually tormenting  her.  One  of  the  many  monopolies 
claimed  by  her  was  that  of  the  privilege  of  bell-ringing. 
The  Mahometans,  as  is  well  known,  never  use  bells  in 
private  houses,  the  usual  summons  for  servants  being 
three  claps  of  the  hands.  But  Lady  Hester  was  a 
constant  and  vehement  bell-ringer,  and  as  no  one  else  in 
the  country-side  possessed  house- bells,  it  was  generally 
260 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

believed  that  the  use  of  them  was  a  special  privilege 
granted  her  by  the  Porte.  She  was  therefore  secretly 
much  annoyed  when  the  Meryons  presumed  to  hang  up 
bells  in  their  new  home.  She  made  no  sign  of  dis- 
pleasure, but  one  morning  it  was  discovered  that  the 
ropes  had  been  cut  and  the  bells  carried  off.  Cross- 
examination  of  the  servants  elicited  the  fact  that  one  of 
Lady  Hester's  emissaries  had  arrived  late  at  night, 
wrenched  off  the  bells,  and  taken  them  away.  Some 
weeks  later  the  Lady  of  Joon  confessed  that  she  had 
instigated  the  act,  and  declared  that  if  the  Merlons'* 
bells  had  hung  much  longer  her  own  would  not  have 
been  attended  to. 

Soon  after  the  doctor's  arrival.  Lady  Hester  had 
dictated  a  letter  to  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  in  whom  she 
placed  great  confidence,  informing  him  of  the  property 
that  she  believed  was  being  withheld  from  her,  and 
requesting  him  to  make  inquiries  into  the  matter. 
AVhen  not  engaged  in  correspondence,  discussing  her 
debts,  and  scolding  her  servants,  she  was  pouring  out 
floods  of  conversation,  chiefly  reminiscences  of  her  youth 
and  diatribes  against  the  men  and  manners  of  the  present 
day,  into  the  ears  of  the  long-suffering  doctor.  *  From 
her  manner  towards  other  people,**  he  obser>es,  *  it  would 
have  seemed  that  she  was  the  only  person  in  creation 
privileged  to  abuse  and  to  command  ;  others  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  obey.  She  was  haughty  and  overbearing, 
born  to  rule,  impatient  of  control,  and  more  at  her  ease 
when  she  had  a  hundred  persons  to  govern  than  when 
she  had  only  ten.  Had  she  been  a  man  and  a  soldier, 
she  would  have  been  what  the  French  call  a  beau  sabrcitr^ 
for  never  was  any  one  so  fond  of  wielding  weapons,  and 
boasting  of  her  capacity  for  using  them,  as  she  was.     In 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

her  bedroom  she  always  had  a  mace,  which  was  spiked 
round  the  head,  a  steel  battle-axe,  and  a  dagger,  but 
her  favourite  weapon  was  the  mace.'  Absurd  as  it  may 
sound,  it  was  probably  her  military  vanity  that  led  her 
to  belittle  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  of  whose  reputation 
she  seems  to  have  felt  some  personal  jealousy.  Yet 
she  bears  testimony  to  the  esteem  in  which  '  Arthur 
Wellesley '  was  held  by  William  Pitt. 

'  I  recollect,  one  day,"*  she  told  the  doctor,  '  Mr.  Pitt 
came  into  the  drawing-room  to  me,  and  said,  "  Oh,  how 
I  have  been  bored  by  Sir  Sydney  Smith  coming  with  his 
box  full  of  papers,  and  keeping  me  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
when  I  had  so  much  to  do."  I  observed  to  him  that 
heroes  were  generally  vain,  and  that  Lord  Nelson  was  so. 
«So  he  is,''  replied  Mr.  Pitt,  "  but  not  like  Sir  Sydney. 
And  how  different  is  Arthur  Wellesley,  who  has  just 
quitted  me  I  He  has  given  me  such  clear  details  upon 
affairs  in  India;  and  he  talked  of  them,  too,  as  if  he 
had  been  a  surgeon  of  a  regiment,  and  had  nothing  to 
do  with  them ;  so  that  I  know  not  which  to  admire 
most,  his  modesty  or  his  talents,  and  yet  the  fate  of 
India  depends  upon  them.''  Then,  doctor,  when  I 
recollect  the  letter  he  wrote  to  Edward  Bouverie,  in 
which  he  said  he  could  not  come  down  to  a  ball  because 
his  only  corbeau  coat  was  so  bad  he  was  ashamed  to 
appear  in  it,  I  reflect  what  a  rise  he  has  had  in  the 
world.  He  was  at  first  nothing  but  what  hundreds  of 
others  are  in  a  country  town — he  danced  hard  and  drank 
hard.  His  star  has  done  everything  for  him,  for  he  is 
not  a  great  general.  He  is  no  tactician,  nor  has  he  any 
of  those  great  qualities  that  make  a  Caesar,  a  Pompey, 
or  even  a  Bonaparte.  As  for  the  battle  of  Waterloo, 
both  French  and  English  have  told  me  that  it  >vas  a 
262 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

lucky  battle  for  him,  but  nothing  more.     I  don't  think 
he  acted  well  at  Paris,  nor  did  the  soldiers  like  him/ 

About  the  end  of  October  Lady  Hester  took  to  her 
bed,  and  did  not  leave  it  till  the  following  March.  She 
had  suffered  from  pulmonary  catarrh  for  several  years, 
which  disappeared  in  the  summer,  but  returned  every 
winter  with  increased  violence.  Her  practice  of  frequent 
bleeding  had  brought  on  a  state  of  complete  emaciation, 
and  left  very  little  blood  in  her  body.  If  she  had  lived 
like  other  people,  and  trusted  to  the  balmy  air  of  Syria, 
Dr.  Meryon  was  of  opinion  that  nothing  serious  need 
have  been  apprehended  from  her  illness.  But  she  seldom 
breathed  the  outer  air,  and  took  no  exercise  except  an 
occasional  turn  in  the  garden.  She  was  always  com- 
plaining that  she  could  get  nothing  to  eat ;  yet,  in  spite 
of  her  profession  (to  Kinglake)  that  she  lived  entirely  on 
milk,  we  are  told  that  her  diet  consisted  of  forcemeat 
balls,  meat- pies,  and  other  heavy  viands,  and  that  she 
seldom  remained  half  an  hour  without  taking  nourish- 
ment of  some  kind.  *  I  never  knew  a  human  being  who 
took  nourishment  so  frequently,"  writes  Dr.  Merj'on, 
'  and  may  not  this  in  some  measure  account  for  her 
frequent  ill-humour  ? ' 

During  her  illness  the  doctor  read  aloud  Sir  Nathaniel 
WraxalPs  Memoirs  and  the  Memoirs  of  a  Peeress^  edited 
by  Lady  Charlotte  Bury,  both  of  which  books  dealt  with 
persons  whom  Lady  Hester  had  known  in  her  youth. 
In  return  she  regaled  him  with  stories  of  her  own  glory, 
of  Mr.  Pitt  8  virtues,  of  the  objectionable  habits  of  the 
Princess  of  Wales,  and  of  the  meanness  of  the  Regent  in 
inviting  himself  to  dinner  with  gentlemen  who  could  not 
afford  to  entertain  him,  the  whole  pleasantly  flavoured 
by  animadversions  on  the  social  presumption  of  medical 

ftGS 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

men,  and  descriptions  of  the  methods  by  which  formerly 
they  were  kept  in  their  proper  place  by  aristocratic 
patients.  At  this  time,  the  beginning  of  1888,  Lady 
Hester  was  anxiously  expecting  an  answer  from  Sir 
Francis  Burdett  about  her  property,  and,  hearing  from 
the  English  consul  at  Sayda  that  a  packet  had  arrived 
for  her  from  Beyrout,  which  was  to  be  delivered  into 
her  own  hands,  her  sanguine  mind  was  filled  with  the 
hope  of  coming  prosperity.  But  when  the  packet  was 
opened,  instead  of  the  long-expected  missive  from  Sir 
Francis,  it  proved  to  be  an  official  statement  from 
Colonel  Campbell,  Consul -General  for  Egypt,  that  in 
consequence  of  an  application  made  to  the  British 
Government  by  one  of  Lady  Hester's  chief  creditors,  an 
order  had  come  from  Lord  Palmerston  that  her  pension 
was  to  be  stopped  unless  the  debt  was  paid.  When  she 
read  the  letter  Dr.  Meryon  feared  an  outburst  of  fury, 
but  Lady  Hester,  who,  for  once,  was  beyond  violence, 
began  calmly  to  discuss  the  enormity  of  the  conduct 
both  of  Queen  and  Minister. 

'  My  grandfather  and  Mr.  Pitt,'  she  said,  '  did  some- 
thing to  keep  the  Brunswick  family  on  the  throne,  and 
yet  the  granddaughter  of  the  old  king,  without  hearing 
the  circumstances  of  my  getting  into  debt,  or  whether 
the  story  is  true,  sends  to  deprive  me  of  my  pension  in 
a  strange  land,  where  I  may  remain  and  starve.  .  .  . 
I  should  like  to  ask  for  a  public  inquiry  into  my  debts, 
and  for  what  I  have  contracted  them.  Let  them  com- 
pare the  good  I  have  done  in  the  cause  of  humanity 
and  science  with  the  Duke  of  Kent's  debts.  I  wonder  if 
Lord  Palmerston  is  the  man  I  recollect — a  young  man 
from  college,  who  was  always  hanging  about  waiting  to 
be  introduced  to  Mr.  Pitt.  Mr.  Pitt  used  to  say,  "  Ah, 
264 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

very  well ;  we  will  ask  him  to  dinner  some  day." 
Perhaps  it  is  an  old  gi'udge  that  makes  him  vent  his 
spite.'  Colonel  CampbelPs  letter  had  given  the  poor 
lady's  heart,  or  rather  her  pride,  a  fatal  stab,  and  the 
indignity  with  which  she  had  been  treated  preyed  upon 
her  health  and  spirits.  She  now  determined  to  send  an 
ultimatum  to  the  Queen,  which  was  to  be  published  in 
the  newspapers  if  ministers  refused  to  lay  it  before  her 
Majesty.  This  document,  which  was  dated  February 
12,  1838,  ran  as  follows  : — 

'  Your  Majesty  will  allow  me  to  say  that  few  things 
are  more  disgraceful  and  inimical  to  royalty  than  giving 
commands  without  examining  all  their  different  bearings, 
and  casting,  without  reason,  an  aspersion  upon  the 
integrity  of  any  branch  of  a  family  that  had  faithfully 
served  their  country  and  the  House  of  Hanover.  As  no 
inquiries  have  been  made  of  me  of  what  circumstances 
induced  me  to  incur  the  debts  alluded  to,  I  deem  it 
unnecessary  to  enter  into  any  details  on  the  subject.  I 
shall  not  allow  the  pension  given  by  your  royal  grandfather 
to  be  stopped  by  force ;  but  I  shall  resign  it  for  the 
payment  of  my  debts,  and  with  it  the  name  of  British 
subject,  and  the  slavery  that  is  at  present  annexed  to  it ; 
and  as  your  Majesty  has  given  publicity  to  the  business 
by  your  orders  to  your  consular  agents,  I  surely  cannot 
be  blamed  for  following  your  royal  example. 

*  Hester  Lucy  Stanhope.' 

This  was  accompanied  by  a  long  letter  to  the  Duke 
of  Wellington,  in  which  Lady  Hester  detailed  her 
services  in  the  East,  and  expressed  her  indignation  at 
the  treatment  she  had  received.  She  was  now  left  with 
only  a  few  pounds  upon  which  to  maintain  her  house- 

265 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

hold  until  March,  when  she  could  draw  for  <£^300, 
apparently  the  quarter's  income  from  a  legacy  left  her 
by  her  brother,  but  of  this  sum  dS'^OO  was  due  to  a 
Greek  merchant  at  Beyrout.  The  faithful  doctor  col- 
lected all  the  money  he  had  in  his  house,  about  eleven 
pounds,  and  brought  it  to  her  for  her  current  expenses, 
but  with  her  usual  impracticability  she  gave  most  of  it 
away  in  charity.  Still  no  letter  came  from  Sir  Francis 
Burdett,  and  the  unfortunate  lady,  old,  sick,  and  wasted 
to  a  skeleton,  lay  on  her  sofa  and  lamented  over  her 
troubles  in  a  fierce,  inhuman  fashion,  like  a  wounded 
animal  at  bay.  In  the  course  of  time  a  reply  came  from 
Lord  Palmerston,  in  which  he  stated  that  he  had  laid 
Lady  Hester's  letter  before  the  Queen,  and  explained  to 
her  Majesty  the  circumstances  that  might  be  supposed 
to  have  led  to  her  writing  it.  The  communications  to 
which  she  referred  were,  he  continued,  suggested  by 
nothing  but  a  desire  to  save  her  from  the  embarrass- 
ments that  might  arise  if  her  creditors  were  to  call 
upon  the  Consul-General  to  act  according  to  the  strict 
line  of  his  duty.  This  letter  did  nothing  towards 
assuaging  Lady  Hester's  wrath.  In  her  reply  she  sar- 
castically observed: — 

'  If  your  diplomatic  despatches  are  all  as  obscure  as 
the  one  that  now  lies  before  me,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
England  should  cease  to  have  that  proud  preponderance 
in  her  foreign  relations  which  she  once  could  boast  of. 
...  It  is  but  fair  to  make  your  lordship  aware  that,  if 
by  the  next  packet  there  is  nothing  definitely  settled 
respecting  my  affairs,  and  I  am  not  cleared  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world  of  aspersions,  intentionally  or  unintention- 
ally thrown  upon  me,  I  shall  break  up  my  household, 
and  build  up  the  entrance-gate  to  my  premises ;  there 
^66 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

remaining  as  if  I  was  in  a  tomb  till  my  character  has 
been  done  justice  to,  and  a  public  acknowledgment  put 
in  the  papers,  signed  and  sealed  by  those  who  have 
aspersed  me.  There  is  no  trifling  with  those  who  have 
Pitt  blood  in  their  veins  upon  the  subject  of  integrity, 
nor  expecting  that  their  spirit  would  ever  yield  to  the 
impertinent  interference  of  consular  authority,  etc.,  etc' 
It  must  be  owned  that  there  is  a  touch  of  unconscious 
humour  in  Lady  Hester  s  terrible  threat  of  walling  her- 
self up,  a  proceeding  which  would  only  make  herself 
uncomfortable  and  leave  her  enemies  at  peace. 

For  the  present  matters  went  on  much  as  usual 
at  Dar  Joon.  No  household  expenses  were  curtailed, 
and  thirty  native  servants  continued  to  cheat  their 
mistress  and  idle  over  their  work.  In  March,  that 
perambulating  princeling,  his  Highness  of  Piickler- 
Muskau,  arrived  at  Sayda,  whence  he  wrote  a  letter 
to  Lady  Hester,  begging  to  be  allowed  to  pay  his 
homage  to  the  Queen  of  Palmyra  and  the  niece  of  the 
great  Pitt.  '  I  have  the  presumption  to  believe,  madam,' 
he  continued,  '  that  there  must  be  some  affinity  of  char- 
acter between  us.  For,  like  you,  my  lady,  I  look  for  our 
future  salvation  from  the  East,  where  nations  still  nearer 
to  God  and  to  nature  can  alone,  some  day,  purify  the 
rotten  civilisation  of  decrepid  Europe,  in  which  every- 
thing is  artificial,  and  where  we  are  menaced  with  a  new 
kind  of  barbarism — not  that  with  which  states  begin, 
but  with  which  they  end.  Like  you,  madam,  I  believe 
that  astrology  is  not  an  empty  science,  but  a  lost  one. 
Like  you,  I  am  an  aristocrat  by  birth  and  by  principle ; 
because  I  find  a  marked  aristocracy  in  nature.  In  a 
word,  madam,  like  you,  I  love  to  sleep  by  day  and  be 
stirring  by  night.    There  I  stop ;  for  in  mind,  energy  of 

ftei 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

character,  and  in  the  mode  of  life,  so  singular  and  so 
dignified,  which  you  lead,  not  every  one  who  would  can 
resemble  Lady  Hester  Stanhope.' 

Lady  Hester  was  flattered  by  this  letter,  and  told 
the  doctor  that  he  must  ride  into  Sayda  to  see  the 
prince,  and  tell  him  that  she  was  too  ill  to  receive 
him  at  present,  but  would  endeavour  to  do  so  a 
few  weeks  later.  The  prince  was  established  with 
his  numerous  suite  in  the  house  of  a  merchant  of 
Sayda.  Mehemet  Ali  had  given  him  a  special  fir- 
man, requiring  all  official  persons  to  treat  him  in  a 
manner  suitable  to  his  rank,  his  whole  expenditure 
being  defrayed  by  cheques  on  the  Viceroy's  treasury. 
The  prince,  unlike  most  other  distinguished  travellers 
who  were  treated  with  the  same  honour,  took  the 
firman  strictly  according  to  the  letter,  and  could  boast 
of  having  traversed  the  whole  of  Egypt  and  Syria  with 
all  the  pomp  of  royalty,  and  without  having  expended 
a  single  farthing.  Dr.  Meryon  describes  his  Highness 
as  a  tall  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age,  distinguished 
by  an  unmistakable  air  of  birth  and  breeding.  He 
wore  a  curious  mixture  of  Eastern  and  Western  costume, 
and  had  a  tame  chameleon  crawling  about  his  pipe, 
with  which  he  was  almost  as  much  occupied  as  M. 
Lamartine  with  his  lapdog.  The  prince  stated  that 
he  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  settle  in  the  East, 
since  Europe  was  no  longer  the  land  of  liberty.  '  I  will 
build  myself  a  house,'  he  said,  '  get  what  I  want  from 
Europe,  make  arrangements  for  newspapers,  books,  etc., 
and  choose  some  delightful  situation ;  but  I  think  it 
will  be  on  Mount  Lebanon.' 

In  his  volume  of  travels  in  the  East  called  Die 
RiickJcehr,  Prince  Piickler-Muksau  has  given  an  amusing 
268 


I 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

account  of  the  negotiations  that  passed  between  himself 
and  Lady  Hester  on  the  subject  of  his  visit.  For  once 
the  niece  of  Pitt  had  found  her  match  in  vanity  and 
arrogance;  and  if  the  prince's  book  had  appeared  in 
her  lifetime,  it  is  certain  that  she  would  not  long  have 
survived  it.  His  Highness  describes  how  he  bided  his 
time,  as  though  he  were  laying  siege  to  a  courted 
beauty,  and  almost  daily  bombarded  the  Lady  of  Joon 
with  letters  calculated  to  pique  her  curiosity  by  their 
frank  and  original  style.  At  last,  *  in  order  to  be  rid 
of  him,''  as  she  jokingly  said,  Lady  Hester  consented  to 
receive  him  on  a  certain  day,  which,  from  his  star, 
she  deemed  propitious  to  their  meeting.  Thereupon 
the  prince,  who  intended  that  his  visit  should  be 
desired,  not  suffered,  wrote  to  say  that  he  was  setting 
out  for  an  expedition  into  the  desert,  but  that  on  his 
return  he  would  come  to  Joon,  not  for  one  day,  but 
for  a  week.  This  impertinence  was  rewarded  by  per- 
mission to  come  at  his  own  time. 

Great  preparations  were  made  for  the  entertainment 
of  this  distinguished  visitor.  The  scanty  contents  of 
the  store  and  china  cupboards  were  spread  out  before 
the  lady  of  the  house,  who  infused  activity  into  the 
most  sluggish  by  smart  strokes  from  her  stick.  The 
epithets  of  beast,  rascal,  and  the  like,  were  dealt  out 
with  such  freedom  and  readiness,  as  to  make  the 
European  part  of  her  audience  sensible  of  the  richness 
and  variety  of  the  Arabian  language.  On  Easter 
Monday,  April  15,  the  prince,  followed  by  a  part  of 
his  suite,  and  five  mule-loads  of  baggage,  rode  into 
the  courtyard.  He  wore  an  immense  Leghorn  hat 
lined  with  green  taffetas,  a  Turkish  scarf  over  his 
shoulders,  and   blue   pantaloons    of  ample  dimensions. 

269 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

From  the  excellent  fit  of  his  Parisian  boots,  it  was 
evident  that  he  felt  his  pretensions  to  a  thoroughbred 
foot  were  now  to  be  magisterially  decided.  The  prince 
has  given  his  own  impression  of  his  hostess,  whom  he 
describes  as  a  thorough  woman  of  the  world,  with 
manners  of  Oriental  dignity  and  calm.  With  her  pale, 
regular  features,  dark,  fiery  eyes,  great  height,  and 
sonorous  voice,  she  had  the  appearance  of  an  ancient 
Sibyl;  yet  no  one,  he  declares,  could  have  been  more 
natural  and  unaffected  in  manner.  She  told  him  that 
since  she  had  lost  her  money,  she  had  lived  like  a 
dervish,  and  assimilated  herself  to  the  ways  of  nature. 
'  My  roses  are  my  jewels,^  she  said,  '  the  sun  and  moon 
my  clocks,  fruit  and  water  my  food  and  drink.  I  see 
in  your  face  that  you  are  a  thorough  epicure ;  how 
will  you  endure  to  spend  a  week  with  me  ? '  The 
prince,  who  had  already  dined,  replied  that  he  found  she 
did  not  keep  her  guests  on  fruit  and  water,  and  assured 
her  that  English  poverty  was  equivalent  to  German 
riches.  He  spent  six  or  seven  hours  tete-a-tete  with 
his  hostess  each  evening  of  his  stay,  and  declares  that 
he  was  astonished  at  the  originality  and  variety  of  her 
conversation.  He  had  the  audacity  to  ask  her  if  the 
Arab  chief  who  accompanied  her  to  Palmyra  had  been 
her  lover,  but  she,  not  ill-pleased,  assured  him  that 
there  was  no  truth  in  the  report,  which  at  one  time 
had  been  generally  believed.  She  said  that  the  Arabs 
regarded  her  neither  as  man  or  woman,  but  as  a  being 
apart. 

Before  leaving,  the   prince   introduced   his   'harem,^ 

consisting   of  two  Abyssinian  slaves,  to  Lady  Hester, 

and  was  presented,  in   his   turn,  to   the   sacred  mares, 

which    had    lost   their   beauty,   and    grown    gross    and 

270 


I 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

unwieldy  under  their  regime  of  gentle  exercise  and 
unlimited  food.  Leila  licked  the  prince's  hand  when 
he  caressed  her,  and  Leila'*s  mistress  was  thereby  con- 
vinced that  her  guest  was  a  *  chosen  vessel.**  She 
confided  to  him  all  her  woes,  the  neglect  of  her  re- 
lations and  the  ill-treatment  of  the  Government,  and 
gave  him  copies  of  the  correspondence  about  her 
pension,  which  he  promised  to  publish  in  a  German  news- 
paper. To  Dr.  Meryon  she  waxed  quite  enthusiastic  over 
his  Highness''s  personal  attractions,  the  excellent  cut 
of  his  coat,  and  the  handiness  with  which  he  performed 
small  services.  *  I  could  observe,"*  writes  the  doctor, 
towards  the  end  of  the  visit,  'that  she  had  already 
begun  to  obtain  an  ascendency  over  the  prince,  such  as 
she  never  failed  to  do  over  those  who  came  within  the 
sphere  of  her  attraction ;  for  he  was  less  lofty  in  his 
manner  than  he  had  been  at  first,  and  she  seemed  to 
have  gained  in  height,  and  to  be  more  disposed  to  play 
the  queen  than  ever.** 

This,  alas,  was  the  last  time  that  Lady  Hester  had 
the  opportunity  of  playing  the  queen,  or  entertaining  a 
distinguished  guest  at  Dar  Joon.  In  June,  when  the 
packet  brought  no  news  of  her  imaginary  property,  and 
no  apology  from  Queen  or  Premier,  she  began  at  last  to 
despair.  '  The  die  is  cast,"  she  told  Dr.  Meryon,  *  and 
the  sooner  you  take  yourself  off  the  better.  I  have  no 
money ;  you  can  be  of  no  use  to  me — I  shall  write  no 
more  letters,  and  shall  break  up  my  establishment,  wall 
up  my  gate,  and,  with  a  boy  and  girl  to  wait  upon 
me,  resign  myself  to  my  fate.  Tell  your  family  they 
may  make  their  preparations,  and  be  gone  in  a 
month's  time.'  Early  in  July  Sir  Francis  Burdett's 
long-expected  letter    arrived,   but  brought   with  it  no 

271 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

consolation.  He  could  tell  nothing  of  the  legacy,  but 
wrote  in  the  soothing,  evasive  terms  that  might  be  sup- 
posed suitable  to  an  elderly  lady  who  was  not  quite 
accountable  for  her  ideas  or  actions.  As  there  was  now 
no  hope  of  any  improvement  in  her  affairs,  Lady  Hester 
decided  to  execute  her  threat  of  walling  up  her  gate- 
way, a  proceeding  which,  she  was  unable  to  perceive, 
injured  nobody  but  herself.  She  directed  the  doctor 
to  pay  and  dismiss  her  servants,  with  the  exception 
of  two  maids  and  two  men,  and  then  sent  him  to 
Beyrout  to  inform  the  French  consul  of  her  intention. 
On  his  return  to  Joon  he  found  that  Lady  Hester  had 
already  hired  a  vessel  to  take  himself  and  his  family 
from  Sayda  to  Cyprus.  He  was  reluctant  to  leave  her 
in  solitude  and  wretchedness,  but  knowing  that  when 
once  her  mind  was  made  up,  nothing  could  shake  her 
resolution,  he  employed  the  time  that  remained  to  him 
in  writing  her  letters,  setting  her  house  in  order,  and 
taking  her  instructions  for  commissions  in  Europe.  He 
also  begged  to  be  allowed  to  lend  her  as  much  money 
as  he  could  spare,  and  she  consented  to  borrow  a  sum 
of  2000  piastres  (about  .^80),  which  she  afterwards 
repaid. 

On  July  30,  1838,  the  masons  arrived,  and  the 
entrance-gate  was  walled  up  with  a  kind  of  stone  screen, 
leaving,  however,  a  side-opening  just  large  enough  for 
an  ass  or  cow  to  enter,  so  that  this  much-talked-of  act 
of  self-immurement  was  more  an  appearance  than  a 
reality.  On  August  6,  the  faithful  doctor  took  an  affec- 
tionate leave  of  the  employer,  who,  as  Prince  Puckler- 
Muskau  bears  witness,  was  accustomed  to  treat  him 
with  icy  coldness,  and  sailed  for  western  climes.  To 
the  last,  he  tells  us.  Lady  Hester  dwelt  with  apparent 
272 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

confidence  on  the  approaching  advent  of  the  Mahedi,  and 
still  regarded  her  mare  Leila  as  destined  to  bear  him  into 
Jerusalem,  with  herself  upon  Lulu  at  his  side.  It  is  to 
be  hoped  that  the  poor  lady  was  able  to  buoy  herself  up 
with  this  belief  during  the  last  and  most  solitary  year  of 
her  disappointed  life.  About  once  a  month,  up  to  the 
date  of  her  death,  she  corresponded  with  Dr.  Meryon, 
who  was  again  settled  at  Nice.  Her  letters  were  chiefly 
taken  up  with  commissions,  and  with  shrewd  comments 
upon  the  new  books  that  were  sent  out  to  her. 

'  I  should  like  to  have  Miss  Pardoe''s  book  on  Con- 
stantinople,"*  she  writes  in  October,  1838,  *  if  it  is  come 
out  for  strangers  (i.e.  in  a  French  translation) ;  for  I 
fear  I  should  never  get  through  with  it  myself.  This 
just  puts  me  in  mind  that  one  of  the  books  I  should 
like  to  have  would  be  Graham''s  Domestic  Medicine ;  a 
good  Red  Book  (Peerage,  I  mean);  and  the  book 
about  the  Prince  of  Wales.  I  have  found  out  a  person 
who  can  occasionally  read  French  to  me ;  so  if  there 
was  any  very  pleasing  French  book,  you  might  send 
it — but  no  Bonapartes  or  "present  times'" — and  a 
little  brochure  or  two  upon  baking,  pastry,  gardening, 
etc.  .  .  . 

'Feb.  9, 1839. — The  book  you  sent  me  {Diary  of  the 
Times  of  George  IV.,  by  Lady  Charlotte  Bury)  is  inter- 
esting only  to  those  who  were  acquainted  with  the 
persons  named :  all  mock  taste,  mock  feeling,  etc.,  but 
that  is  the  fashion.  "  I  am  this,  I  am  that  ^ ;  who  ever 
talked  such  empty  stuff*  formerly  P  /  was  never  named 
by  a  well-bred  person.  .  .  .  Miss  Pardoe  is  very  excel- 
lent upon  many  subjects;  only  there  is  too  much  of 
what  the  English  like — stars,  winds,  black  shades,  soft 
sounds,  etc.  .  .  . 

s  «78 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

'  May  6. — Some  one — I  suppose  you — sent  me  the 
Life  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald.  It  is  /  who  could 
give  a  true  and  most  extraordinary  history  of  all  those 
transactions.  The  book  is  all  stuiF.  The  duchess  (Lord 
Edward's  mother)  was  my  particular  friend,  as  was  also 
his  aunt ;  I  was  intimate  with  all  the  family,  and  knew 
that  noted  Pamela.  All  the  books  I  see  make  me  sick — 
only  catchpenny  nonsense.  A  thousand  thanks  for  the 
promise  of  my  grandfather's  letters ;  but  the  book  will 
be  all  spoilt  by  being  edited  by  young  men.  First,  they 
are  totally  ignorant  of  the  politics  of  my  grandfather's 
age ;  secondly,  of  the  style  of  the  language  used  at  that 
period ;  and  absolutely  ignorant  of  his  secret  reasons 
and  intentions,  and  the  real  or  apparent  footing  he  was 
upon  with  many  people,  friends  or  foes.  I  know  all 
that  from  my  grandmother,  who  was  his  secretary,  and, 
Coutts  used  to  say,  the  cleverest  rnan  of  her  time  in 
politics  and  business.' 

This  was  the  last  letter  that  Dr.  Meryon  received  from 
his  old  friend  and  patroness.  She  slowly  wasted  away, 
and  died  in  June  1839,  no  one  being  aware  of  her 
approaching  end  except  the  servants  about  her.  The 
news  of  her  death  reached  Beyrout  in  a  few  hours,  and 
the  English  consul,  Mr.  Moore,  and  an  American  mission- 
ary (Mr.  Thomson,  author  of  The  Land  and  the  Book) 
rode  over  to  Joon  to  bury  her.  By  her  own  desire  she 
was  interred  in  a  grave  in  her  garden,  where  a  son  of 
the  Prophet  Loustaunau  had  been  buried  some  years 
before.  Mr.  Thomson  has  described  how  he  performed 
the  last  rites  at  midnight  by  the  light  of  lanterns  and 
torches,  and  notes  the  curious  resemblance  between  Lady 
Hester's  funeral  service  and  that  of  the  man  she  loved. 
Sir  John  Moore.  Together  with  the  consul,  he  examined 
274 


LADY  HESTER   STANHOPE 

the  contents  of  thirt)-five  rooms,  but  found  nothing  but 
old  saddles,  pipes,  and  empty  oil-jars,  everything  of 
value  having  been  long  since  plundered  by  the  ser- 
vants. The  sacred  mares,  now  grown  old  and  almost 
useless,  were  sold  for  a  small  sum  by  public  auction, 
and  only  survived  for  a  short  time  their  return  to  an 
active  life. 

In  1845  Dr.  Meryon  published  his  so-called  Memoirs 
of  Lady  Hester  Stanhope,  which  are  merely  an  account 
of  her  later  years,  and  a  report  of  her  table-talk  at  Dar 
Joon.  In  1846  he  brought  out  her  Travels,  which 
were  advertised  as  the  supplement  and  completion  of  the 
Memoirs,  From  these  works,  and  from  passing  notices 
of  our  heroine,  we  gain  a  general  impression  of  wasted 
talents  and  a  disappointed  life.  That  she  was  more  un- 
happy in  her  solitude  than,  in  her  unbending  nature,  she 
would  avow,  observes  her  faithful  friend  and  chronicler, 
the  record  of  the  last  years  of  her  existence  too  plainly 
demonstrates.  Although  she  derived  consolation  in 
retirement  from  the  retrospect  of  the  part  she  had 
played  in  her  prosperity,  still  there  were  moments  of 
poignant  grief  when  her  very  soul  groaned  within  her. 
She  was  ambitious,  and  her  ambition  had  been  foiled ; 
she  loved  irresponsible  command,  but  the  time  had  come 
when  those  over  whom  she  ruled  defied  her;  she  was 
dictatorial  and  exacting,  but  she  had  lost  the  influence 
which  alone  makes  people  tolerate  control.  She  incurred 
debts,  and  was  doomed  to  feel  the  degradation  conse- 
quent upon  them.  She  thought  to  defy  her  own  nation, 
and  they  hurled  the  defiance  back  upon  her.  She 
entertained  visionary  projects  of  aggrandisement,  and 
was  met  by  the  derision  of  the  world.  In  a  word, 
Lady  Hester  died  as  she  had  lived,  alone  and  miserable 

«76 


LADY  HESTER  STANHOPE 

in  a  strange  land,  bankrupt  in  affection  and  credit,  be- 
cause, in  spite  of  her  great  gifts  and  innate  benevolence, 
her  overbearing  temper  had  alienated  friends  and  kins- 
folk alike,  and  her  pride  could  endure  neither  the 
society  of  equals,  nor  the  restraints  and  conventions  of 
civilised  life. 


are 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN 
ENGLAND 


^^ 


m 


B- 


^/t^tyriyoe 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN 
ENGLAND 

PART   I 

During  the  early  and  middle  decades  of  the  nineteenth 
century  there  was  no  more  original  and  picturesque 
figure  among  the  minor  celebrities  of  Germany — one 
might  almost  say  of  Europe — than  that  of  his  Highness, 
Hermann  Ludwig  Heinrich,  Prince  Piickler-Muskau. 
Throughout  his  long  career  we  find  this  princeling  play- 
ing many  parts — at  once  an  imitation  Werter,  a  senti- 
mental Don  Juan,  a  dandy  who  out-dressed  D''Orsay,  a 
sportsman  and  traveller  of  Miinchhausen  type,  a  fashion- 
able author  who  wrote  Grerman  with  a  French  accent 
and  a  warrior  who  seems  to  have  wandered  out  of 
the  pages  of  mediaeval  romance.  Yet  with  all  his  mock- 
heroic  notoriety,  the  toller  Piickler  was  by  no  means 
destitute  of  those  practical  qualities  which  tempered 
the  Teutonic  Romanticism,  even  in  its  earliest  and  most 
extravagant  developments.  He  was  skilled  in  all  manly 
exercises,  a  brave  soldier,  an  intelligent  obser\'er,  and 
— his  most  substantial  claim  to  remembrance — the 
father  of  landscape-gardening  in  Germany,  a  veritable 
magician  who  transformed  level  wastes  into  wooded 
landscapes  and  made  the  sandy  wildernesses  blossom 
like  the  rose. 

S79 


PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

To  English  readers  the  prince's  name  was  once 
familiar  as  the  author  of  Briefe  eines  Verstorhenen 
(Letters  of  a  Dead  Man),  which  contain  a  lively 
account  of  his  Highness'  sojourn  in  England  and 
Ireland  between  the  years  1826  and  1828.  These 
letters,  which  were  translated  into  English  under  the 
title  of  The  Tour  of  a  German  Prince,  made  a  sensation, 
favourable  and  otherwise,  in  the  early  *  thirties,"*  owing 
to  the  candid  fashion  in  which  they  dealt  with  our 
customs  and  our  countrymen.  The  book  received  the 
high  honour  of  a  complimentary  review  from  the  pen 
of  the  aged  Goethe.  '  The  writer  appears  to  be  a 
perfect  and  experienced  man  of  the  world,'  observes 
this  distinguished  critic  ;  '  endowed  with  talents  and  a 
quick  apprehension ;  formed  by  a  varied  social  existence, 
by  travel  and  extensive  connections.  His  journey  was 
undertaken  very  recently,  and  brings  us  the  latest 
intelligence  from  the  countries  which  he  has  viewed 
with  an  acute,  clear,  and  comprehensive  eye.  We  see 
before  us  a  finely-constituted  being,  born  to  great 
external  advantages  and  felicities,  but  in  whom  a 
lively  spirit  of  enterprise  is  not  united  to  constancy  and 
perseverance ;  whence  he  experiences  frequent  failure 
and  disappointment.  .  .  .  The  peculiarities  of  English 
manners  and  habits  are  drawn  vividly  and  distinctly,  and 
without  exaggeration.  We  acquire  a  lively  idea  of  that 
wonderful  combination,  that  luxuriant  growth — of  that 
insular  life  which  is  based  in  boundless  wealth  and  civil 
freedom,  in  universal  monotony  and  manifold  diversity ; 
formal  and  capricious,  active  and  torpid,  energetic  and 
dull,  comfortable  and  tedious,  the  envy  and  derision  of 
the  world.  Like  other  unprejudiced  travellers  of  modern 
times,  our  author  is  not  very  much  enchanted  with  the 
280 


Wmtfmk   §anm  ^ 


K    bf^   M 


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tothe 


1785. 


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m  1797,  Md  &e 


SciJfiU,  vitk 


totibe  csr  of  tfe 


kk  fiael  I'l 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

into  debt,  and  embroiling  himself  with  the  authorities, 
threw  up  his  commission  in  1804.  Muskau  having 
become  much  too  hot  to  hold  him,  he  spent  the  next  years 
in  travelling  about  the  Continent,  always  in  pecuniary 
difficulties,  and  seldom  free  from  some  sentimental 
entanglement. 

In  1810  Graf  Plickler  died,  and  his  son  stepped  into 
a  splendid  inheritance.  Like  Prince  Hal,  the  young 
Graf  seems  to  have  taken  his  new  responsibilities 
seriously,  and  to  have  devoted  himself,  with  only  too 
much  enthusiasm,  to  the  development  and  improvement 
of  his  estates.  In  the  intervals  of  business  he  amused 
himself  with  an  endless  series  of  love-affairs,  his  achieve- 
ments in  this  respect,  if  his  biographer  may  be  believed, 
more  than  equalling  those  of  Jupiter  and  Don  Giovanni 
put  together.  Old  and  young,  pretty  and  plain,  noble 
and  humble,  native  and  foreign,  all  were  fish  that  came 
to  the  net  of  this  lady-killer,  who  not  only  vowed 
allegiance  to  nearly  every  petticoat  that  crossed  his 
path,  but — a  much  more  remarkable  feat — kept  up  an 
impassioned  correspondence  with  a  large  selection  of  his 
charmers.  After  his  death,  a  whole  library  of  love- 
letters  was  discovered  among  his  papers,  all  breathing 
forth  adoration,  ecstasy  or  despair,  and  addressed  to  the 
Julies,  Jeannettes,  or  Amalies  who  succeeded  one  another 
so  rapidly  in  his  facile  affections.  These  documents,  for 
the  most  part  carefully-corrected  drafts  of  the  originals, 
were  indorsed,  '  Old  love-letters,  to  be  used  again  if 
required ! ' 

In  1813  the  trumpet  of  war  sounded  the  call  to 
arms,  and  the  young  Graf  entered  the  military  service  of 
Prussia,  and  was  appointed  aide-de-camp  to  the  Duke  of 
Saxe- Weimar.     He  distinguished  himself  in  the  Nether- 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

lands,  was  present  at  the  taking  of  Cassel,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  campaign  played  a  part  in  a  new  species 
of  duel.  A  French  colonel  of  Hussars,  so  the  story 
goes,  rode  out  of  the  enemy's  lines,  and  challenged  any 
officer  in  the  opposing  army  to  single  combat.  Piickler 
accepted  the  challenge,  and  the  duel  was  fought  on 
horseback — presumably  with  sabres — between  the  ranks 
of  the  two  armies,  the  soldiers  on  either  side  applauding 
their  chosen  champion.  At  length,  after  a  fierce  struggle, 
Germany  triumphed,  and  the  brave  Frenchman  bit  the 
dust.  Whether  the  tale  be  true  or  apocryphal,  it  is 
certain  that  numerous  decorations  were  conferred  upon 
the  young  officer  for  his  brilliant  services,  that  he  was 
promoted  to  the  rank  of  colonel,  and  appointed  civil 
and  military  governor  of  Bruges.  Piickler  took  part  in 
the  triumphal  entry  of  the  Allies  into  Paris,  and  after- 
wards accompanied  the  Duke  of  Saxe-Weimar  to  London, 
where  he  shared  in  all  the  festivities  of  the  wonderful 
season  of  1815,  studied  the  English  methods  of  land- 
scape-gardening, and  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
marry  a  lady  of  rank  and  fortune. 

After  his  return  to  Muskau  the  Graf  continued  his 
work  on  his  estate,  which,  in  spite  of  a  sandy  soil  and 
other  disadvantages,  soon  became  one  of  the  show-places 
of  Germany.  Having  discovered  a  spring  of  mineral 
water,  he  built  a  pump-room,  a  theatre,  and  a  gaming- 
saloon,  and  named  the  establishment  Hermannsbad.  The 
invalids  who  frequented  the  Baths  must  have  enjoyed  a 
lively  *cure,'  for  besides  theatrical  performances,  illu- 
minations, fireworks  and  steeplechases,  the  Graf  was 
always  ready  to  oblige  with  some  sensational  achieve- 
ment* On  one  occasion  he  leapt  his  horse  over  the 
parapet  of  a  bridge  into  the  river,  and  swam  triumphantly 

283 


PRINCE  PtJCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

ashore  ;  while  on  another  he  galloped  up  the  steps  of 
the  Casino,  played  and  won  a  coup  at  the  tables  without 
dismounting,  and  then  galloped  down  again,  arriving 
at  the  bottom  with  a  whole  neck,  but  considerable 
damage  to  his  horse's  legs. 

In  1816  Piickler  became  acquainted  with  Lucie, 
Grafin  von  Pappenheim,  a  daughter  of  Prince  Harden- 
berg,  Chancellor  of  Prussia.  The  Grafin,  a  well-preserved 
woman  of  forty,  having  parted  from  her  husband,  was 
living  at  Berlin  with  her  daughter,  Adelheid,  afterwards 
Princess  Carolath,  and  her  adopted  daughter,  Herminie 
Lanzendorf.  The  Graf  divided  his  attentions  equally 
between  the  three  ladies  for  some  time,  but  on  inquiring 
of  a  friend  which  would  make  the  greatest  sensation  in 
Berlin,  his  marriage  to  the  mother  or  to  one  of  the 
daughters,  and  being  told  his  marriage  to  the  mother, 
at  once  proposed  to  the  middle-aged  Grafin,  and  was 
joyfully  accepted.  The  reason  for  this  inappropriate 
match  probably  lay  deeper  than  the  desire  to  astonish 
the  people  of  Berlin,  for  Piickler,  with  all  his  surface 
romanticism,  had  a  keen  eye  to  the  main  chance.  His 
Lucie  had  only  a  moderate  dower,  but  the  advantage  of 
being  son-in-law  to  the  Chancellor  of  Prussia  could 
hardly  be  overestimated.  Again,  the  Graf  seems  to^ 
have  imagined  that  in  a  marriage  of  convenience  with  a 
woman  nine  years  older  than  himself,  he  would  be  able 
to  preserve  the  liberty  of  his  bachelor  days,  while  pre- 
senting the  appearance  of  domestic  respectability. 

As  soon  as  the  trifling  formality  of  a  divorce  from 
Count  Pappenheim  had  been  gone  through,  the  marriage 
took  place  at  Muskau,  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
most  splendid  festivities.  As  may  be  supposed,  the 
early  married  life  of  the  ill-assorted  couple  was  a  period 
284 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

of  anything  but  unbroken  calm.  Scarcely  had  the  Graf 
surrendered  his  liberty  than  he  fell  passionately  in  love 
with  his  wife's  adopted  daughter,  Helmine,  a  beautiful 
girl  of  eighteen,  the  child,  it  was  believed,  of  humble 
parents.  Frederick  William  III.  of  Prussia  was  one  of 
her  admirers,  and  had  offered  to  marry  her  morgan- 
atically,  and  create  her  Herzogin  von  Breslau.  But 
Helmine  gave  her  royal  suitor  no  encouragement,  and 
he  soon  consoled  himself  with  the  Princess  Liegnitz. 
Lucie  spared  no  pains  to  marry  off  the  inconvenient 
beauty,  but  Puckler  frustrated  all  her  efforts,  implored 
her  not  to  separate  him  from  Helmine,  and  suggested 
an  arrangement  based  upon  the  domestic  policy  of 
Goethe's  Wahlverwandschqflen.  But  Lucie  was  unreason- 
able enough  to  object  to  a  nienage  a  trots,  and  at 
length  succeeded  in  marrying  Helmine  to  a  Lieutenant 
von  Blucher. 

In  1822  the  Graf  accompanied  his  father-in-law  to 
the  Congress  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  shortly  afterwards 
was  raised  to  princely  rank,  in  compensation  for 
the  losses  he  had  sustained  through  the  annexation  of 
Silesia  by  Prussia.  By  this  time  the  prince's  financial 
affairs  were  in  so  desperate  a  condition,  thanks  to  the 
follies  of  his  youth  and  the  building  mania  of  his 
manhood,  that  a  desperate  remedy  was  required  to  put 
them  straight  again.  Only  one  expedient  presented 
itself,  and  this  Lucie,  with  a  woman's  self-sacrifice,  was 
the  first  to  propose.  During  a  short  absence  from 
Muskau  she  wrote  to  her  husband  to  offer  him  his 
freedom,  in  order  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  marry 
a  rich  heiress,  whose  fortune  could  be  used  to  clear  off 
the  liabilities  that  pressed  so  heavily  on  the  estate. 
The  prince  at  first  refused  to  take  advantage  of  this 

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PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

generous  offer.  He  had  become  accustomed  to  his 
elderly  wife,  who  acted  as  his  colleague  and  helper  in 
all  that  concerned  his  idolised  Muskau,  and  upon  whose 
sympathy  and  advice  he  had  learned  to  depend.  But 
as  time  went  on  he  grew  accustomed  to  the  idea  of 
an  amicable  divorce,  and  at  length  persuaded  himself 
that  such  a  proceeding  need  make  no  real  difference  to 
Lucie's  position  ;  in  fact,  that  it  would  be  an  advantage 
to  her  as  well  as  to  himself.  For  years  past  he  had 
regarded  her  rather  in  the  light  of  a  maternal  friend 
than  of  a  wife,  and  the  close  camaraderie  that  existed 
between  them  would  remain  unbroken  by  the  advent 
of  a  young  bride  whom  Lucie  would  love  as  her  own 
child.  A  divorce,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  a 
common  incident  of  everyday  life  in  the  Germany  of 
that  epoch.  As  we  have  seen,  Piickler's  father  and 
mother  had  dissolved  their  marriage,  and  Lucie  had 
been  divorced  from  her  first  husband,  while  her  father 
had  been  married  three  times,  and  had  separated  from 
each  of  his  wives. 

The  matter  remained  in  abeyance  for  a  year  or  two, 
and  it  was  not  until  1826,  when  the  prince  probably 
felt  that  he  had  no  time  to  lose,  that  the  long-talked- 
of  divorce  actually  took  place.  This  curious  couple, 
who  appeared  to  be  more  tenderly  attached  to  each 
other  now  than  they  had  ever  been  before,  took  a 
touching  farewell  in  Berlin.  The  princess  then  re- 
turned to  Muskau,  where  she  remained  during  her 
ex-husband's  absence  as  his  agent  and  representative, 
while  the  prince  set  out  for  England,  which  country 
was  supposed  to  offer  the  best  hunting-ground  for 
heiresses.  Week  by  week  during  his  tour,  Piickler 
addressed  to  his  faithful  Lucie  long,  confidential  letters, 
286 


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PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

filled  with  observations  of  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  British  barbarians,  together  with  minute  descrip- 
tions of  his  adventures  in  love  and  landscape-gardening. 

The  prince,  though  at  this  time  in  his  forty-first 
year,  was  still,  to  all  appearance,  in  the  prime  of  life, 
still  an  adept  in  feats  of  skill  and  strength,  and  not 
less  romantic  and  susceptible  than  in  the  days  of  his 
youth.  With  his  high  rank,  his  vast  though  en- 
cumbered estates,  his  picturesque  appearance,  and  his 
wide  experience  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  he  anticipated 
little  difficulty  in  carrying  off  one  of  the  most  eligible 
of  British  heiresses ;  but  he  quite  forgot  to  include  the 
hard-hearted,  level-headed  British  parent  in  his  reckon- 
ing. The  prince's  first  letter  to  Lucie,  who  figures  in 
the  published  version  as  Julie,  is  dated  Dresden,  Sep- 
tember 7,  1826,  and  begins  in  right  Werterian  strain  : — 

'  My  dear  Friend, — The  love  you  showed  me  at  our 
parting  made  me  so  happy  and  so  miserable  that  I 
cannot  yet  recover  from  it.  Your  sad  image  is  ever 
before  me ;  I  still  read  deep  sorrow  in  your  looks  and 
in  your  tears,  and  my  own  heart  tells  me  too  well  what 
yours  suffered.  May  God  grant  us  a  meeting  as  joyful 
as  our  parting  was  sorrowful  !  I  can  only  repeat  what 
I  have  so  often  told  you,  that  if  I  felt  my'self  without 
you,  my  dearest  friend,  in  the  world,  I  could  enjoy  none 
of  its  pleasures  without  an  alloy  of  sadness ;  that  if  you 
love  me,  you  will  above  all  things  watch  over  your 
health,  and  amuse  yourself  as  much  as  you  can  by 
varied  occupation.**  There  are  protestations  of  this 
kind  in  nearly  every  letter,  for  the  prince's  pen  was 
always  tipped  with  fine  sentiment  and  vows  of  eternal 
devotion  came  more  easily  to  him  than  the  ordinary 
civilities  of  everyday  life  to  the  average  man. 

«87 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

A  visit  to  Goethe  at  Weimar,  on  the  traveller''s 
leisurely  journey  towards  England,  furnished  his  note- 
book with  some  interesting  specimens  of  the  old 
poefs  conversation.  '  He  received  me,'  writes  the 
prince,  '  in  a  dimly-lighted  room,  whose  clair  obscure 
was  arranged  with  some  coquetterie ;  and  truly  the 
aspect  of  the  beautiful  old  man,  with  his  Jovelike 
countenance,  was  most  stately.  ...  In  the  course  of 
conversation  we  came  to  Walter  Scott.  Goethe  was 
not  very  enthusiastic  about  the  Great  Unknown.  He 
said  he  doubted  not  that  he  wrote  his  novels  in  the 
same  sort  of  partnership  as  existed  between  the  old 
painters  and  their  pupils ;  that  he  furnished  the  plot, 
the  leading  thoughts,  the  skeleton  of  the  scenes,  that 
he  then  let  his  pupils  fill  them  up,  and  retouched  them 
at  the  last.  It  seemed  almost  to  be  his  opinion  that 
it  was  not  worth  the  while  of  a  man  of  Scotfs 
eminence  to  give  himself  up  to  such  a  number  of  minute 
and  tedious  details.  "  Had  I,"**  he  said,  "  been  able  to 
lend  myself  to  the  idea  of  mere  gain,  I  could  formerly 
have  sent  such  things  anonymously  into  the  world,  with 
the  aid  of  Lenz  and  others — nay,  I  could  still,  as 
would  astonish  people  not  a  little,  and  make  them 
puzzle  their  brains  to  find  out  the  author;  but  after 
all,  they  would  be  but  manufactured  wares.   .   .   .*" 

'  He  afterwards  spoke  of  Lord  Byron  with  great 
affection,  almost  as  a  father  would  of  a  son,  which  was 
extremely  grateful  to  my  enthusiastic  feelings  for  this 
great  poet.  He  contradicted  the  silly  assertion  that 
Manfred  was  only  an  echo  of  his  Faust.  He  extremely 
regretted  that  he  had  never  become  personally  acquainted 
with  Lord  Byron,  and  severely  and  justly  reproached 
the  English  nation  for  having  judged  their  illustrious 
288 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

countryman  so  pettily,  and  understood  him  so  ill/  The 
conversation  next  turned  on  politics,  and  Goethe  reverted 
to  his  favourite  theory  that  if  every  man  laboured  faith- 
fully, honestly,  and  lovingly  in  this  sphere,  were  it  great 
or  small,  universal  well-being  and  happiness  would  not 
long  be  wanting,  whatever  the  form  of  government. 
The  prince  urged  in  reply  that  a  constitutional  govern- 
ment was  first  necessary  to  call  such  a  principle  into 
life,  and  adduced  the  example  of  England  in  support 
of  his  argument.  '  Goethe  immediately  replied  that  the 
choice  of  the  example  was  not  happy,  for  that  in  no 
country  was  selfishness  more  omnipotent ;  that  no  people 
were  perhaps  essentially  less  humane  in  their  political 
or  their  private  relations  ;  that  salvation  came,  not  from 
without,  by  means  of  forms  of  government,  but  from 
within,  by  the  wise  moderation  and  humble  activity  of 
each  man  in  his  own  circle ;  and  that  this  must  ever  be 
the  chief  source  of  human  felicity,  while  it  was  the 
easiest  and  the  simplest  to  attain.' 

The  prince  seems  always  to  have  played  the  part  of 
Jonah  on  board  ship,  and  on  the  occasion  of  his  journey 
to  England,  he  had  a  terrible  passage  of  forty  hours, 
from  Rotterdam  to  the  London  Docks.  As  soon  as  he 
could  get  his  carriage,  horses,  and  luggage  clear  of  the 
customs,  he  hastened  to  the  Clarendon  Hotel,  where  he 
had  stayed  during  his  first  visit  to  London.  Unlike  the 
American,  N.  P.  Willis,  he  had  come  armed  with  many 
prejudices  against  England  and  the  English,  few  of 
which  he  succeeded  in  losing  during  the  two  years  of 
his  sojourn  among  us.  In  his  first  letter  from  London, 
dated  October  5,  1826,  he  writes:  *  London  is  now  so 
utterly  dead  to  elegance  and  fashion  that  one  hardly 
meets  a  single  equipage,  and  nothing  remains  of  the 
T  «89 


PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

heau  monde  but  a  few  ambassadors.  The  huge  city  is 
at  the  same  time  full  of  fog  and  dirt,  and  the  macadam- 
ised streets  are  like  well-worn  roads.  The  old  pave- 
ment has  been  torn  up,  and  replaced  by  small  pieces  of 
granite,  the  interstices  between  which  are  filled  up  with 
gravel ;  this  renders  the  riding  more  easy,  and  diminishes 
the  noise,  but  on  the  other  hand  changes  the  town  into 
a  sort  of  quagmire.''  The  prince  comments  favourably 
on  the  improvements  that  had  recently  been  carried  out 
by  Nash  the  architect,  more  especially  as  regards  Regent 
Street  and  Portland  Place,  and  declares  that  the  laying 
out  of  the  Regent's  Park  is  'faultless,'  particularly  in 
the  disposition  of  the  water. 

The  comfort  and  luxury  of  English  hotels,  as  well  as 
of  private  houses,  is  a  subject  on  which  the  traveller 
frequently  enlarges,  and  in  this  first  letter  he  assures  his 
Lucie  that  she  would  be  delighted  with  the  extreme 
cleanliness  of  the  interiors,  the  great  convenience  of  the 
furniture,  and  the  good  manners  of  the  serving- people, 
though  he  admits  that,  for  all  that  pertains  to  luxury, 
the  tourist  pays  about  six  times  as  much  as  in  Germany. 
'  The  comfort  of  the  inns,'  he  continues,  '  is  unknown 
on  the  Continent ;  on  your  washing-table  you  find,  not 
one  miserable  water-bottle  with  a  single  earthenware 
jug  and  basin,  and  a  long  strip  of  towel,  but  positive 
tubs  of  porcelain  in  which  you  may  plunge  half  your 
body ;  taps  which  instantly  supply  you  with  streams  of 
water  at  pleasure ;  half-a-dozen  wide  towels,  a  large 
standing  mirror,  foot-baths  and  other  conveniences  of 
the  toilet,  all  of  equal  elegance.' 

The  prince  took  advantage  of  the  dead  season  to 
explore  the  city  and  other  unfashionable  quarters  of 
the  town.  He  was  delighted  with  the  excellent  side- 
290 


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PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

pavements,  the  splendid  shops,  the  brilliant  gas-lamps, 
and  above  all  (like  Miss  Edgeworth''s  Rosamund)  with 
'  the  great  glass  globes  in  the  chemists''  windows,  filled 
with  liquid  of  a  deep  red,  blue  or  green,  the  light  of 
which  is  visible  for  miles  (!)'  Visits  to  the  Exchange, 
the  Bank,  and  the  Guildhall  were  followed  by  a  call  on 
Rothschild,  *  the  Grand  Ally  of  the  Grand  Alliance,**  at 
his  house  of  business.  '  On  my  presenting  my  card,' 
says  our  hero,  *he  remarked  ironically  that  we  were 
lucky  people  who  could  afford  to  travel  about,  and  take 
our  pleasure,  while  he,  poor  man,  had  such  a  heavy 
burden  to  bear.  He  then  broke  out  into  bitter  com- 
plaints that  every  poor  devil  who  came  to  England  had 
something  to  ask  of  him.  .  .  .  After  this  the  conversa- 
tion took  a  political  turn,  and  we  of  course  agreed  that 
Europe  could  not  subsist  without  him  ;  he  modestly 
declined  our  compliments,  and  said,  smiling,  *0h  no, 
you  are  only  jesting ;  I  am  but  a  servant,  with  whom 
people  are  pleased  because  he  manages  their  affairs  well, 
and  to  whom  they  allow  some  crumbs  to  fall  as  an 
acknowledgment.' 

On  October  19  the  prince  went  to  Newmarket  for 
the  races.  During  his  stay  he  was  introduced  to  a  rich 
merchant  of  the  neighbourhood,  who  invited  him  to 
spend  a  couple  of  days  at  his  country-house.  He  gives 
Lucie  a  minute  account  of  the  manners  and  customs  of 
an  English  mhwffey  but  these  are  only  interesting  to 
the  modem  reader  in  so  far  as  they  have  become 
obsolete.  For  example  :  *  When  you  enter  the  dining- 
room,  you  find  the  whole  of  the  first  course  on  the 
table,  as  in  France.  After  the  soup  is  removed,  and 
the  covers  are  taken  off,  every  man  helps  the  dish 
before  him,  and  offers   some  to  his  neighl)our;  if  he 

ftdl 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

wishes  for  anything  else,  he  must  ask  across  the  table, 
or  send  a  servant  for  it,  a  very  troublesome  custom.  .  .  . 
It  is  not  usual  to  take  wine  without  drinking  to  another 
person.  If  the  company  is  small,  and  a  man  has  drunk 
with  everybody,  but  happens  to  wish  for  more  wine,  he 
must  wait  for  the  dessert,  if  he  does  not  find  in  himself 
courage  to  brave  custom."* 

On  his  return  to  town  the  prince,  who  had  been 
elected  a  member  of  the  Travellers'  Club,  gives  a  long 
dissertation  on  English  club  life,  not  forgetting  to  dwell 
on  the  luxury  of  all  the  arrangements,  the  excellent 
service,  and  the  methodical  fashion  in  which  the  gaming- 
tables were  conducted.  '  In  no  other  country,"  he 
declares,  '  are  what  are  here  emphatically  called  "  busi- 
ness habits  *"  carried  so  extensively  into  social  and 
domestic  life ;  the  value  of  time,  of  order,  of  despatch, 
of  routine,  are  nowhere  so  well  understood.  This  is 
the  great  key  to  the  most  striking,  national  character- 
istics. The  quantity  of  material  objects  produced  and 
accomplished — the  work  done — in  England  exceeds  all 
that  man  ever  effected.  The  causes  that  have  produced 
these  results  have  as  certainly  given  birth  to  the  dulness, 
the  contracted  views,  the  inveterate  prejudices,  the  un- 
bounded desire  for,  and  deference  to  wealth  which 
characterise  the  great  mass  of  Englishmen."* 

During  this  first  winter  in  London  the  prince  was  a 
regular  attendant  at  the  theatres,  and  many  were  the 
dramatic  criticisms  that  he  sent  to  his  'friend'  at 
Muskau.  He  saw  Liston  in  the  hundred  and  second 
representation  of  Paul  Pry,  and  at  Drury  Lane  found, 
to  his  amazement  that  Braham,  whom  he  remembered  as 
an  elderly  man  in  1814,  was  still  first  favourite.  'He 
is  the  genuine  representative  of  the  English  style  of 
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PHINCE  PtrCKLER-MtrSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

singing,"  writes  our  critic,  *  and  in  popular  songs  is  the 
adored  idol  of  the  public.  One  cannot  deny  him  great 
power  of  voice  and  rapidity  of  execution,  but  a  more 
abominable  style  it  is  difficult  to  conceive.  .  .  .  The 
most  striking  feature  to  a  foreigner  in  English  theatres 
is  the  natural  coarseness  and  brutality  of  the  audiences. 
The  consequence  is  that  the  higher  and  more  civilised 
classes  go  only  to  the  Italian  Opera,  and  very  rarely 
visit  their  national  theatre.  English  freedom  has 
degenerated  into  the  rudest  licence,  and  it  is  not 
uncommon  in  the  mndst  of  the  most  affecting  part  of  a 
tragedy,  or  the  most  charming  cadenza  of  a  singer,  to 
hear  some  coarse  expression  shouted  from  the  gallery  in 
a  stentor  voice.  This  is  followed,  either  by  loud 
laughter  and  applause,  or  by  the  castigation  and  expul- 
sion of  the  offender.'' 

The  poor  prince  saw  Mozart's  Figaro  announced  for 
performance  at  Drury  I^ne,  and  looked  forward  to 
hearing  once  more  the  sweet  harmonies  of  his  Vaterland. 
'  What,  then,  was  my  astonishment,**  he  exclaims,  in 
justifiable  indignation,  *at  the  unheard-of  treatment 
which  the  masterpiece  of  the  immortal  composer  has 
received  at  English  hands  !  You  will  hardly  believe  me 
when  I  tell  you  that  neither  the  count,  the  countess, 
nor  Figaro  sang ;  these  parts  were  given  to  mere  actors, 
and  their  principal  airs  were  sung  by  other  singers.  To 
add  to  this  the  gardener  roared  out  some  interpolated 
English  popular  songs,  which  suited  Mozart's  music  just 
as  a  pitch-plaster  would  suit  the  face  of  the  Venus  de"* 
Medici.  The  whole  opera  was,  moreover,  arranged  by 
a  certain  Mr.  Bishop;  that  is,  adapted  to  English 
ears  by  means  of  the  most  tasteless  and  shocking 
alterations.     The   English  national   music,  the  coarse, 

SOS 


PRINCE  PtrcKLER-MUSItAlJ  IN  ENGLAND 

heavy  melodies  of  which  can  never  be  mistaken  for  an 
instant,  has  to  me,  at  least,  something  singularly 
offensive,  an  expression  of  brutal  feeling  both  in  pain 
and  pleasure  that  smacks  of  "  roast-beef,  plum-pudding, 
and  porter.'" 

Another  entertainment  attended  by  our  hero  about 
this  time  was  the  opening  of  Parliament  by  George  iv., 
who  had  not  performed  this  ceremony  for  several  years. 
'  The  king,'  we  are  told,  *  looked  pale  and  bloated,  and 
was  obliged  to  sit  on  the  throne  for  a  considerable  time 
before  he  could  get  breath  enough  to  read  his  speech. 
During  this  time  he  turned  friendly  glances  and  con- 
descending bows  towards  some  favoured  ladies.  On  his 
right  stood  Lord  Liverpool,  with  the  sword  of  state  and 
the  speech  in  his  hand,  and  the  Duke  of  Wellington  on 
his  left.  All  three  looked  so  miserable,  so  ashy-grey 
and  worn  out,  that  never  did  human  greatness  appear 
to  me  so  little  worth.  ...  In  spite  of  his  feebleness, 
George  iv.  read  his  hanale  speech  with  great  dignity 
and  a  fine  voice,  but  with  that  royal  nonchalance  which 
does  not  concern  itself  with  what  his  Majesty  promises, 
or  whether  he  is  sometimes  unable  to  decipher  a  word. 
It  was  very  evident  that  the  monarch  was  heartily  glad 
when  the  corvee  was  over.' 

In  one  of  his  early  letters  the  traveller  gives  his 
friend  the  following  account  of  the  manner  in  which  he 
passes  his  day  :  '  I  rise  late,  read  three  or  four  news- 
papers at  breakfast,  look  in  my  visiting-book  to  see 
what  visits  I  have  to  pay,  and  either  drive  to  pay  them 
in  my  cabriolet,  or  ride.  In  the  course  of  these  excur- 
sions, I  sometimes  catch  the  enjoyment  of  the  pictur- 
esque ;  the  struggle  of  the  blood-red  sun  with  the 
winter  fogs  often  produces  wild  and  singular  effects  of 
S94 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

light.  After  my  visits  I  ride  for  several  hours  about 
the  beautiful  environs  of  London,  return  when  it  grows 
dark,  dress  for  dinner,  which  is  at  seven  or  eight,  and 
spend  the  evening  either  at  the  theatre  or  some  small 
party.  The  ludicrous  routs — at  which  one  hardly  finds 
standing-room  on  the  staircase — have  not  yet  com- 
menced. In  England,  however,  except  in  a  few  diplo- 
matic houses,  you  can  go  nowhere  in  the  evening  without 
a  special  invitation.** 

The  prince  seems  to  have  been  bored  at  most  of  the 
parties  he  attended ;  partly,  perhaps,  out  of  pique  at 
finding  himself,  so  long  accustomed  to  be  the  principal 
personage  in  his  little  kingdom  of  Muskau,  eclipsed  in 
influence  and  wealth  by  many  a  British  commoner. 
Few  persons  that  he  met  in  the  London  of  that  day 
amused  him  more  than  the  great  Rothschild,  with  whom 
he  dined  more  than  once  at  the  banker's  suburban  villa. 
Of  one  of  these  entertainments  he  writes :  *  Mr,  Roth- 
schild was  in  high  good-humour,  amusing  and  talkative. 
It  was  diverting  to  hear  him  explain  to  us  the  pictures 
round  his  room  (all  portraits  of  the  sovereigns  of  Europe, 
presented  through  their  ambassadors),  and  talk  of  the 
originals  as  his  very  good  friends,  and  in  a  certain  sense 

his  equals.      "  Yes,""  said  he,  "  the  Mnce  of  once 

pressed  me  for  a  loan,  and  in  the  same  week  on  which 
I  received  his  autograph  letter,  his  father  wrote  to  me 
also  from  Rome,  to  beg  me,  for  Heaven^s  sake,  not  to 
have  any  concern  in  it,  for  that  I  could  not  have  to  do 
with  a  more  dishonest  man  than  his  son.  .  .  ."^  He  con- 
cluded by  modestly  calling  himself  the  dutiful  and 
generously-  paid  agent  and  scr^'ant  of  these  high 
potentates,  all  of  whom  he  honoured  equally,  let  the 
state   of   politics    be    what    it    might;    for,   said    h«| 

295 


PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

laughing,  "  I  never  like  to  quarrel  with  my  bread  and 
butter/"*  It  shows  great  prudence  in  Mr.  Rothschild  to 
have  accepted  neither  title  nor  order,  and  thus  to  have 
preserved  a  far  more  respectable  independence.  He 
doubtless  owes  much  to  the  good  advice  of  his  extremely 
amiable  and  judicious  wife,  who  excels  him  in  tact  and 
knowledge  of  the  world,  though  not,  perhaps,  in  acuteness 
and  talents  for  business."* 

Although  the  prince  had  not  as  yet  entered  the 
ranks  of  authors,  he  was  always  interested  in  meeting 
literary  people,  such  as  Mr.  Hope,  author  of  Anastasms^ 
Mr.  Morier  of  Hadji  Baba  fame,  and  Lady  Charlotte 
Bury,  who  had  exchanged  the  celebrity  of  a  beauty  for 
that  of  a  fashionable  novelist.  '  I  called  on  Lady 
Charlotte,'  he  says,  '  the  morning  after  meeting  her,  and 
found  everything  in  her  house  brown,  in  every  possible 
shade ;  furniture,  curtains,  carpets,  her  own  and  her 
children''s  dresses,  presented  no  other  colour.  The  room 
was  without  looking-glasses  or  pictures,  and  its  only 
ornaments  were  casts  from  the  antique.  .  .  .  After  I  had 
been  there  some  time,  the  celebrated  publisher.  Con- 
stable, entered.  This  man  has  made  a  fortune  by 
Walter  Scott's  novels,  though,  as  I  was  told,  he  refused 
his  first  and  best,  Waverley,  and  at  last  gave  but  a 
small  sum  for  it.  I  hope  the  charming  Lady  Charlotte 
had  better  cause  to  be  satisfied  with  him." 

Towards  the  end  of  December,  his  Highnesses  head- 
gardener,  Rehde,  a  very  important  functionary  at 
Muskau,  arrived  in  London  to  be  initiated  into  the 
mysteries  of  English  landscape-gardening.  Together 
the  two  enthusiasts,  master  and  man,  made  a  tour  of 
some  of  the  principal  show-places  of  England,  including 
Stanmore  Priory,  Woburn  Abbey,  Cashiobury,  Blenheim, 
296 


I 


PRINCE  PtJCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

Stowe,  Eaton,  Warwick,  and  Kenilworth,  besides  many 
of  lesser  note.  At  the  end  of  the  excursion,  which  lasted 
three  weeks,  the  prince  declared  that  even  he  was 
beginning  to  feel  satiated  with  the  charms  of  English 
parks.  On  his  return  to  London  he  was  invited  to 
spend  a  few  days  with  Lord  Damley  at  Cobham,  and 
writes  thence  some  further  impressions  of  English 
country-house  life.  He  was  a  little  perturbed  at  being 
publicly  reminded  by  his  elderly  host  that  they  had 
made  each  other's  acquaintance  thirty  years  before. 

*  Now,  as  I  was  in  frocks  at  the  time  he  spoke  of,** 
observes  the  prince,  *  I  was  obliged  to  beg  for  a  further 
explanation,  though  I  cannot  say  I  was  much  delighted 
at  having  my  age  so  fully  discussed  before  all  the  com- 
pany, for  you  know  I  claim  to  look  not  more  than 
thirty.  However,  I  could  not  but  admire  Lord 
Darn  ley  ""s  memory.  He  recollected  every  circumstance 
of  his  visit  to  my  parents  with  the  Duke  of  Portland, 
and  recalled  to  me  many  a  little  forgotten  incident.* 

The  Xfie  de  chateau  the  traveller  considered  the  most 
agreeable  side  of  English  life,  by  reason  of  its  freedom, 
and  the  absence  of  those  wearisome  ceremonies  which  in 
Grermany  oppressed  both  host  and  guests.  The  English 
custom  of  being  always  en  I'videiice,  however,  occasioned 
him  considerable  surprise.  *  Strangers,*'  he  observes, 
<  have  generally  only  one  room  allotted  to  them,  and 
Englishmen  seldom  go  into  this  room  except  to  sleep, 
and  to  dress  twice  a  day,  which,  even  without  company, 
is  always  de  rigueur  \  for  all  meals  are  usually  taken  in 
public,  and  any  one  who  wants  to  write  does  it  in  the 
library.  There,  also,  those  who  wish  to  converse,  give 
each  other  rendezvous,  to  avoid  the  rest  of  the  society. 
Here  you  have  an  opportunity  of  gossiping  for  hours 

297 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

with  the  young  ladies,  who  are  always  very  literarily  in- 
clined. Many  a  marriage  is  thus  concocted  or  destroyed 
between  the  corpus  juris  on  the  one  side,  and  Bouffler's 
works  on  the  other,  while  fashionable  novels,  as  a  sort 
of  intermediate  link,  lie  on  the  tables  in  the  middle. 

Early  in  February  the  prince  paid  a  visit  to  Brighton, 
where  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Count  D'Orsay,  and 
was  entertained  by  Mrs.  Fitzherbert.  He  gives  a  jaun- 
diced account  of  two  entertainments,  a  public  ball  and 
a  musical  soiree^  which  he  attended  while  at  Brighton, 
declaring — probably  with  some  truth — that  the  latter 
is  one  of  the  greatest  trials  to  which  a  foreigner  can 
be  exposed  in  England.  'Every  mother,'  he  explains, 
'  who  has  grown-up  daughters,  for  whom  she  has  had  to 
pay  large  sums  to  the  music-master,  chooses  to  enjoy 
the  satisfaction  of  having  the  youthful  talent  admired. 
There  is  nothing,  therefore,  but  quavering  and  strum- 
ming right  and  left,  so  that  one  is  really  overpowered 
and  unhappy;  and  even  if  an  Englishwoman  has  a 
natural  capacity  for  singing,  she  seldom  acquires  either 
style  or  science.  The  men  are  much  more  agreeable 
dilettanti,  for  they  at  least  give  one  the  diversion  of  a 
comical  farce.  That  a  man  should  advance  to  the  piano 
with  far  greater  confidence  than  a  David,  strike  with  his 
forefinger  the  note  which  he  thinks  his  song  should 
begin  with,  and  then  entonner  like  a  thunder-clap 
(generally  a  tone  or  two  lower  than  the  pitch),  and 
sing  through  a  long  aria  without  an  accompaniment  of 
any  kind,  except  the  most  wonderful  distortions  of  face,  is 
a  thing  one  must  have  seen  to  believe  it  possible,  especi- 
ally in  the  presence  of  at  least  fifty  people.' 

By  the  middle  of  April  the  season  had  begun  in  town, 

and  the   prince  soon  found  himself  up  to  the  eyes  in 

298 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

invitations  for  balls,  dinners,  breakfasts,  and  soirees. 
We  hear  of  him  dining  with  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  to 
meet  the  Duchess  of  Kent  and  her  daughter ;  assisting  at 
the  Lord  Mayor^s  banquet,  which  lasted  six  hours,  and 
at  which  the  chief  magistrate  made  six-and-twenty 
speeches,  long  and  short;  breakfasting  with  the  Duke 
of  Devonshire  at  Chiswick,  being  nearly  suffocated  at 
the  routs  of  Lady  Cowper  and  Lady  Jersey,  and  attend- 
ing his  first  ball  at  Almack's,  in  which  famous  assem- 
blage his  expectations  were  wofully  disappointed.  'A 
large,  bare  room,**  so  runs  his  description,  *  with  a  bad 
floor,  and  ropes  round  it,  like  the  space  in  an  Arab 
camp  parted  off  for  horses ;  two  or  three  badly-furnished 
rooms  at  the  side,  in  which  the  most  wretched  refresh- 
ments are  served,  and  a  company  into  which,  in  spite 
of  all  the  immense  difficulty  of  getting  tickets,  a  great 
many  nobodies  had  wriggled ;  in  which  the  dress  was  as 
tasteless  as  the  toumure  was  bad — this  was  all.  In 
a  word,  a  sort  of  inn-entertainment — the  music  and 
lighting  the  only  good  things.  And  yet  Almack''s  is 
the  culminating  point  of  the  English  world  of  fashion.^ 

Unfortunately  for  his  readers,  the  prince  was  rather 
an  observer  than  an  auditor ;  for  he  describes  what  he 
sees  vividly  enough,  but  seldom  takes  the  trouble  to  set 
down  the  conversation  that  he  hears.  Perhaps  he 
thought  it  hardly  worth  recording,  for  he  complains 
that  in  England  politics  had  become  the  main  ingredient 
in  social  intercourse,  that  the  lighter  and  more  frivolous 
pleasures  suffered  by  the  change,  and  that  the  art 
of  conversation  would  soon  be  entirely  lost.  *  In  this 
country,'  he  unkindly  adds,  •  I  should  think  it  [the 
art  of  conversation]  never  existed,  unless,  perhaps, 
in  Charles  ii.'s  time.     And,  indeed,  people  here  are  too 

ft99 


PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

slavishly  subject  to  established  usages,  too  systematic  in 
all  their  enjoyments,  too  incredibly  kneaded  up  with 
prejudices  ;  in  a  word,  too  little  vivacious  to  attain  to 
that  unfettered  spring  and  freedom  of  spirit,  which  must 
ever  be  the  sole  basis  of  agreeable  society.  I  must 
confess  that  I  know  none  more  monotonous,  nor  more 
persuaded  of  its  own  pre-eminence  than  the  highest 
society  of  this  country.  A  stony,  marble-cold  spirit  of 
caste  and  fashion  rules  all  classes,  and  makes  the  highest 
tedious,  the  lowest  ridiculous.' 

In  spite  of  his  dislike  to  politics  as  a  subject  of  con- 
versation, his  Highness  attended  debates  at  the  House 
of  Lords  and  the  House  of  Commons,  and  was  so  keenly 
interested  in  what  he  heard  that  he  declared  the  hours 
passed  like  minutes.     Canning  had  just  been  intrusted  by 
George  iv.  with  the  task  of  forming  a  government,  but 
had  promptly  been  deserted  by  six  members  of  the  former 
Ministry,  including  Wellington,  Lord  Eldon,  and  Peel, 
who  were  now  accused  of  having  resigned  in  consequence 
of  a  cabal  or  conspiracy  against  the  constitutional  pre- 
rogative of  the  king  to  change  his  ministers  at  his  own 
pleasure.     In  the  House  of  Commons  the  prince  heard 
Peel's    attack    on  Canning    and   the    new   government,! 
which   was  parried   by  Brougham.      '  In  a  magnificent  I 
speech,  which  flowed  on  like  a  clear  stream.  Brougham,'! 
we  are  told, '  tried  to  disarm  his  opponent ;  now  tortured! 
him  with  sarcasms  ;  now  wrought  upon  the  sensibility, 
or  convinced  the  reason,  of   his  hearers.     The    oratoi 
closed  with  the  solemn  declaration  that  he  was  perfectly 
impartial ;  that  he  could  be  impartial,  because  it  w£ 
his  fixed  determination  never,  and  on  no  terms,  to  accepi 
a  place  in  the   administration  of  the   kingdom.^  . 
^  In  1 83 1  Brougham  accepted  office  as  Lord  Chancellor. 

300 


PRINCE  PCCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

Canning,  the  hero  of  the  day,  now  rose.  If  his  pre- 
decessor might  be  compared  to  a  dexterous  and  elegant 
boxer,  Canning  presented  the  image  of  a  finished  antique 
gladiator.  All  was  noble,  simple,  refined  ;  then  suddenly 
his  eloquence  burst  forth  like  lightning — grand  and  all- 
subduing.  His  speech  was,  from  every  point  of  view, 
the  most  complete,  as  well  as  the  most  irresistibly  per- 
suasive— the  crown  and  glory  of  the  debate.' 

On  the  following  day  the  prince  heard  some  of  the 
late  ministers  on  their  defence  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
'  Here,"*  he  observes,  '  I  saw  the  great  Wellington  in 
terrible  straits.  He  is  no  orator,  and  was  obliged  to 
enter  upon  his  defence  like  an  accused  person.  He  was 
considerably  agitated  ;  and  this  senate  of  his  country, 
though  composed  of  men  whom  individually,  perhaps, 
he  did  not  care  for,  appeared  more  imposing  to  him  en 
masse  than  Napoleon  and  his  hundred  thousands.  He 
stammered  much,  interrupted  and  involved  himself,  but 
at  length  he  brought  the  matter  tolerably  to  this  con- 
clusion, that  there  was  no  "  conspiracy."  He  occasion- 
ally said  strong  things — probably  stronger  than  he 
meant,  for  he  was  evidently  not  master  of  his  material. 
Among  other  things,  the  following  words  pleased  me 
extremely  :  "  I  am  a  soldier  and  no  orator.  I  am  utterly 
deficient  in  the  talents  requisite  to  play  a  part  in  this 
great  assembly.  I  must  be  more  than  insane  if  I  ever 
entertained  the  thought,  of  which  I  am  accused,  of 
becoming  Prime  Minister.""^  .  .  .  When  I  question  myself 
as  to  the  total  impression  of  this  day,  I  must  confess 
that  it  was  at  once  elevating  and  melancholy — the  former 
when  I  fancied  myself  an  Englishman,  the  latter  when 
I  felt  myself  a  German.  This  twofold  senate  of  the 
*  In  January  1828  the  duke  became  Prime  Minister. 

801 


PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

people  of  England,  in  spite  of  all  the  defects  and 
blemishes  common  to  human  institutions,  is  yet  grand 
in  the  highest  degree ;  and  in  contemplating  its  power 
and  operation  thus  near  at  hand,  one  begins  to  under- 
stand why  it  is  that  the  English  nation  is,  as  yet,  the 
first  on  the  face  of  the  earth.' 

The  traveller  was  by  no  means  exclusively  occupied  in 
hearing  and  seeing  new  things.  With  that  strain  of 
practicality  which  contrasted  so  oddly  with  his  senti- 
mental and  romantic  temperament,  he  kept  firmly  before 
his  eyes  the  main  object  of  his  visit  to  England.  He 
had  determined  at  the  outset  not  to  sell  himself  and  his 
title  for  less  than  £50,000,  but  he  confesses  that,  as 
time  passed  on,  his  demands  became  much  more  modest. 
His  matrimonial  ventures  were  all  faithfully  detailed  to 
the  presumably  sympathising  Lucie,  for  whose  sake,  the 
prince  persuaded  himself,  he  was  far  more  anxious  for 
success  than  for  his  own.  But  he  had  not  counted  on 
the  many  obstacles  with  which  he  found  himself  con- 
fronted, chief  among  them  being  his  relations  with  his 
former  wife.  It  was  known  that  the  ex-princess  was 
still  living  at  Muskau  with  all  the  rights  and  privileges 
of  a  chatelaine,  while  the  prince  never  disguised  his 
attachment  to  her,  and  openly  kept  her  portrait  on  his 
table.  English  mothers  who  would  have  welcomed  him 
as  a  son-in-law  were  led  to  believe  that  the  divorce 
was  only  a  blind,  and  that  the  prince's  marriage  would 
be  actually,  if  not  legally,  a  bigamous  union.  The 
satirical  papers  represented  him  as  a  fortune-hunter,  a 
Bluebeard  who  had  ill-treated  his  first  wife,  and  declared 
that  he  had  proposed  for  the  hand  of  the  dusky  Empress 
of  Hayti,  then  on  a  visit  to  Europe. 

Still  our  hero  obstinately  pursued  his  quest,  laying 


PRINCE  PtFCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

siege  to  the  heart  of  every  presentable-looking  heiress  to 
whom  he  was  introduced,  and  if  attention  to  the  art  of 
the  toilet  could  have  gained  him  a  rich  bride,  he  would 
not  long  have  been  unsuccessful.  In  dress  he  took  the 
genuine  interest  and  delight  of  the  dandy  of  the  period, 
and  marvellous  are  the  descriptions  of  his  costume  that 
he  sends  to  Lucie.  For  morning  visits,  of  which  he 
sometimes  paid  fifty  in  one  day,  he  wore  his  hair  dyed  a 
beautiful  black,  a  new  hat,  a  green  neckerchief  with 
gaily  coloured  stripes,  a  yellow  cashmere  waistcoat  with 
metal  buttons,  an  olive-green  frock-coat  and  iron-grey 
pantaloons.  On  other  occasions  he  is  attired  in  a 
dark- brown  coat,  with  a  velvet  collar,  a  white  necker- 
chief, in  which  a  thin  gold  watch-chain  is  entwined,  a 
waistcoat  with  a  collar  of  cramoisie  and  gold  stars,  an 
under- waistcoat  of  white  satin,  embroidered  with  gold 
flowers,  full  black  pantaloons,  spun  silk  stockings,  and 
short  square  shoes.  Style  such  as  this  could  only  be 
maintained  at  a  vast  outlay,  from  the  German  point  of 
view,  the  week'^s  washing-bill  alone  amounting  to  an 
important  sum.  According  to  the  prince's  calculation, 
a  London  exquisite,  during  the  season  of  1827,  required 
every  week  twenty  shirts,  twenty-four  pocket-handker- 
chiefs, nine  or  ten  pairs  of  summer  trousers,  thirty 
neckerchiefs,  a  dozen  waistcoats  and  stockings  ^  dlwrHion. 
*  I  see  your  housewifely  ears  aghast,  my  good  Lucie,"*  he 
writes,  *■  but  as  a  dandy  cannot  get  on  without  dressing 
three  or  four  times  a  day,  the  affair  is  quite  simple/ 

However  much  the  prince  may  have  enjoyed  the 
ceremony  of  the  toilet,  he  strongly  objected  to  the 
process  of  hair-dyeing,  and  his  letters  are  full  of  com- 
plaints of  his  sufferings  and  humiliation  while  under- 
going the  operation,  which,  he  declares,  is  a  form  of 

303 


PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

slow  poison,  and  also  an  unpleasant  reminder  that  he 
is  really  old,  but  obliged  to  play  the  part  of  youth 
in  order  to  attain  an  object  that  may  bring  him  more 
misery  than  happiness.  As  soon  as  he  is  safely  married 
to  his  heiress,  he  expresses  his  determination  of  looking 
his  full  age,  so  that  people  might  say  '  What  a  well- 
preserved  old  man  ! '  instead  of  '  Voila,  le  ci-devant  jeune 
homme  ! '  Still,  with  all  this  care  and  thought,  heiresses 
remained  coy,  or  more  probably  their  parents  were 
'  difficult.'  The  prince's  highly-developed  personal 
vanity  was  wounded  by  many  a  refusal,  and  so  weary  did 
he  become  of  this  woman-hunt,  that  in  one  letter  to 
Lucie,  dated  March  5,  1827,  he  exclaims,  'Ah,  my 
dearest,  if  you  only  had  150,000  thalers,  I  would 
marry  you  again  to-morrow  !  "* 


PART   II 

The  summer  months  were  spent  in  visits  to  Windsor 
and  other  parks  near  London,  and  in  a  tour  through 
Yorkshire.  In  October  his  Highness  was  back  in  town, 
and  engaged  in  a  new  matrimonial  venture.  He  writes 
to  Lucie  that  '  the  fortune  in  question  is  immense,  and 
if  I  obtain  it,  I  shall  end  gloriously.'  In  the  correspon- 
dence published  after  the  prince's  death  is  the  draft  of 
a  letter  to  Mr.  Bonham  of  Titness  Park,  containing  a 
formal  proposal  for  the  hand  of  his  daughter,  '  Miss 
Harriet,'  and  detailing  (with  considerable  reservations) 
the  position  of  his  financial  affairs.  Muskau,  he  explains, 
is  worth  ^14,000  a  year,  an  income  which  in  Germany 
is  equivalent  to  three  times  as  much  in  England.  '  Every- 
thing belonging  to  me,'  he  continues,  'is  in  the  best 
304 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

possible  order ;  a  noble  residence  at  Muskau,  and  two 
smaller  chateaux,  surrounded  with  large  parks  and  gar- 
dens, in  fact,  all  that  make  enjoy  life  (sic)  in  the  country  is 
amply  provided  for,  and  a  numerous  train  of  officious  {»ic) 
of  my  household  are  always  ready  to  receive  their  young 
princess  at  her  own  seat,  or  if  she  should  prefer  town,  the 
court  of  Prussia  will  offer  her  every  satisfaction/  Owing 
to  the  fact  that  Muskau  was  mortgaged  for /^5 0,000,  he 
was  forced,  he  confesses,  to  expect  an  adequate  fortune 
with  his  wife,  a  circumstance  to  which,  if  he  had  been 
otherwise  situated,  he  should  have  paid  little  attention. 
This  missive  was  accompanied  by  a  long  letter,  dated 
Nov.  1,  1827,  to  'Miss  Harriet,'  in  which  the  suitor 
explains  the  circumstances  of  his  former  marriage,  and 
of  his  divorce,  the  knowledge  of  which  has  rendered  her 
uneasy.  *  It  is  rather  singular,**  he  proceeds,  *  that  in 
the  very  first  days  after  my  arrival,  you.  Miss  Hamet, 
were  named  to  me,  together  with  some  other  young 
ladies,  as  heiresses.  Now  I  must  confess,  at  the  risk  of 
the  fact  being  doubted  in  our  industrious  times,  that  I 
myself  had  a  prejudice  against,  and  even  some  dread  of 
heiresses.  I  may  say  that  I  proved  in  some  way  these 
feelings  to  exist  by  marrying  a  lady  with  a  very  small 
fortune,  and  afterwards  in  England  by  never  courting 
any  heiresses  further  as  common  civility  required.  My 
reasons  for  so  doing  are  not  without  foundation.  In 
the  first  instance,  I  am  a  little  proud ;  in  the  second,  I 
don'*t  want  any  more  than  I  possess,  though  I  should 
not  reject  it,  finding  it  in  my  way,  and  l)esides  all  this, 
rich  young  maidens  are  not  always  very  amiable.**  l"lie 
prince  continues  that  he  had  gone,  out  of  principle,  into 
all  kinds  of  society,  and  seen  many  charming  and  hand- 
some girls,  but  had  not  been  able  to  discover  his  affmity« 
u  305 


Mince  puckler-muskau  in  England 

At  last,  after  renouncing  the  idea  of  marriage,  he  heard 
again  of  Miss  Harriet  Bonham,  not  of  her  fortune  this 
time,  but  of  her  many  excellent  qualities,  and  the  fact 
that  she  had  refused  several  splendid  offers.  His  curio- 
sity was  now  at  last  aroused ;  he  sought  an  opportunity 
of  being  introduced  to  her,  and — '  Dearest  Miss  Harriet, 
you  know  the  rest.  I  thought — and  I  protest  it  by  all 
that  is  sacred — I  thought  when  I  left  you  again,  that 
here  at  last  I  had  found  united  all  and  everything  I 
could  wish  in  a  future  companion  through  life.  An 
exterior  the  most  pleasing,  a  mind  and  person  equally 
fit  for  the  representation  of  a  court  and  the  delight  of 
a  cottage,  and  above  all,  that  sensibility,  that  goodness 
of  heart,  and  that  perfect  absence  of  conceitedness  which 
I  value  more  than  every  other  accomplishment.  ...  I 
beheld  you,  besides  all  your  more  essential  qualities,  so 
quick  as  lively,  so  playful  as  whiity  (sic),  and  nothing  really 
seemed  more  bewitching  to  me  as  when  a  hearty,  joyful 
laugh  changed  your  thoughtful,  noble  features  to  the 
cheerful  appearance  of  a  happy  child  !  And  still  through 
every  change  your  and  your  friends'  conversation  and 
behaviour  always  remained  distinguished  by  that  perfect 
breeding  and  fine  tact  which,  indeed,  is  to  private  life 
what  a  clear  sky  is  to  a  landscape.   .   .   ."' 

There  is  a  great  deal  more  to  the  same  effect,  and  it 
is  sad  to  think  that  all  this  trouble,  all  this  expenditure 
of  ink  and  English  grammar,  was  thrown  away.  Papa 
Bonham  could  not  pay  down  the  fortune  demanded  by 
the  prince  without  injuring  the  other  members  of  his 
family  ;  ^  and  although  Miss  Harriet  deplores  *  the  cruel 
end  of  all  our  hopes,"  the  negotiations  fell  through. 

^  Mr.  Bonham's  eldest  daughter  was  the  second  wife  of  the  first  Lord 
Garvagh. 

306 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

The  prince  consoled  himself  for  his  disappointment 
with  a  fresh  round  of  sight-seeing.  He  became  deeply 
enamoured  of  a  steam-engine,  of  which  newly-invented 
animal  he  sends  the  following  picturesque  description  to 
Lucie :  '  We  must  now  be  living  in  the  days  of  the 
Arabian  Nights,  for  I  have  seen  a  creature  to-day  far 
surpassing  all  the  fantastic  beings  of  that  time.  Listen 
to  the  monster'*s  characteristics.  In  the  first  place,  its 
food  is  the  cheapest  possible,  for  it  eats  nothing  but 
wood  or  coals,  and  when  not  actually  at  work,  it  re(|uire8 
none.  It  never  sleeps,  nor  is  weary  ;  it  is  subject  to  no 
diseases,  if  well  organised  at  first ;  and  never  refuses  its 
work  till  worn  out  by  great  length  of  service.  It  is 
equally  active  in  all  climates,  and  undertakes  all  kinds 
of  labour  without  a  murmur.  Here  it  is  a  miner,  there 
a  sailor,  a  cotton-spinner,  a  weaver,  or  a  miller ;  and 
though  a  small  creature,  it  draws  ninety  tons  of  goods, 
or  a  whole  regiment  of  soldiers,  with  a  swiftness  exceed- 
ing that  of  the  fleetest  mail-coaches.  At  the  same  time, 
it  marks  its  own  measured  steps  on  a  tablet  fixed  in 
front  of  it.  It  regulates,  too,  the  degree  of  warmth 
necessary  to  its  well-being ;  it  has  a  strange  power  of  oil- 
ing its  inmost  joints  when  they  are  stiff,  and  of  removing 
at  pleasure  all  injurious  air  that  might  find  the  way  into 
its  system ;  but  should  anything  become  deranged  in  it, 
it  warns  its  master  by  the  loud  ringing  of  a  bell.  Lastly, 
it  is  so  docile,  in  spite  of  its  enormous  strength  (nearly 
equal  to  that  of  six  hundred  horses),  that  a  child  of  four 
years  old  is  able  in  a  moment  to  arrest  its  mighty  labours 
by  the  pressure  of  his  little  finger.  Did  ever  a  witch 
burnt  for  sorcery  produce  its  equal  ? ' 

A  few  weeks  later  we  hear  of  one  manifestation  of  the 
new  power,  which  did  not  quite  come  up  to  the  ex|)ectao 

807 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

tions  of  its  admirers.  On  January  16,  1828,  the  prince 
writes  :  '  The  new  steam-carriage  is  completed,  and  goes 
five  miles  in  half  an  hour  on  trial  in  the  Regent's  Park. 
But  there  was  something  to  repair  every  moment.  I  was 
one  of  the  first  of  the  curious  who  tried  it ;  but  found  the 
smell  of  oiled  iron,  which  makes  steamboats  so  unplea- 
sant, far  more  insufferable  here.  Stranger  still  is  another 
vehicle  to  which  I  yesterday  intrusted  my  person.  It  is 
nothing  less  than  a  carriage  drawn  by  a  paper  kite,  very 
like  those  the  children  fly.  This  is  the  invention  of  a 
schoolmaster,  who  is  so  skilful  in  the  guidance  of  his 
vehicle,  that  he  can  get  on  very  fairly  with  half  a  wind, 
but  with  a  completely  fair  one,  and  good  roads,  he  goes 
a  mile  in  three-quarters  of  a  minute.  The  inventor 
proposes  to  traverse  the  African  deserts  in  this  manner, 
and  has  contrived  a  place  behind,  in  which  a  pony  stands 
like  a  footman,  and  in  case  of  a  calm,  can  he  harnessed 
to  the  carriage."* 

In  the  early  part  of  1828  Henriette  Son  tag  arrived  in 
London,  and  the  prince  at  once  fell  a  victim  to  her 
charms.  The  fascinating  singer,  then  barely  three-and- 
twenty,  was  already  the  idol  of  the  public,  at  the  very 
summit  of  her  renown.  Amazing  prices  were  paid  for 
seats  when  she  was  announced  to  appear.  Among  his 
Highnesses  papers  was  found  a  ticket  for  a  box  at  the 
opera  on  '  Madame  Sontag's  night,'  on  which  he  notes 
that  he  had  sold  a  diamond  clasp  to  pay  the  eighty  guineas 
demanded  for  the  bit  of  cardboard.  He  was  in  love 
once  again  with  all  the  ardour  of  youth,  and  for  the 
moment  all  thoughts  of  a  marriage  of  convenience  were 
dismissed  from  his  mind.  He  was  now  eager  for  a  love- 
match  with  the  fair  Henriette,  whose  attractions  had 
rendered  him  temporarily  forgetful  of  those  of  Muskau. 
308 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

But  Mademoiselle  Sontag,  though  carried  away  by  the 
passionate  wooing  of  the  prince,  actually  remembered 
that  she  had  other  ties,  probably  her  engagement  to 
Rossi,  to  which  it  was  her  duty  to  remain  true.  She 
told  her  lover  that  he  must  learn  to  forget  her,  and  that 
when  they  parted  at  the  conclusion  of  the  London 
season,  they  must  never  meet  again.  The  prince  was 
heart-broken  at  the  necessity  for  separation,  and  we  are 
assured  that  he  never  forgot  Henriette  Sontag  (though 
she  had  many  successors  in  his  affections),  and  that  after 
his  return  to  Germany  he  placed  a  gilded  bust  of  the 
singer  in  his  park,  in  order  that  he  might  have  her 
image  ever  before  his  eyes. 

In  the  hope  of  distracting  his  thoughts  from  his  dis- 
appointment. Prince  Pi'ickler  decided  to  make  a  lengthened 
tour  through  Wales  and  Ireland,  and  with  this  object  in 
view  he  set  out  in  July  1828.  Before  his  departure, 
however,  he  had  an  interesting  rencontre  at  a  dinner- 
party given  by  the  Duchess  of  St.  Albans — the  ci-devant 
Harriet  Melton.  *  I  arrived  late,**  says  the  prince,  in  his 
account  of  the  incident,  *  and  was  placed  between  my 
hostess  and  a  tall,  very  simple,  but  benevolent-looking 
man  of  middle  age,  who  spoke  broad  Scotch — a  dialect 
anything  but  agreeable ;  and  would  probably  have 
struck  me  by  nothing  else,  if  I  had  not  discovered  that 

I  was  sitting  next  to  ,  the  Great  Unknown  !     It 

was  not  long  ere  many  a  sally  of  dry,  poignant  wit  fell 
from  his  lips,  and  many  an  anecdote  told  in  the  most 
unpretending  manner.  His  eye,  too,  glanced  whenever 
he  was  animated,  with  such  a  clear,  good-natured  lustre, 
and  such  an  expression  of  true-hearted  kindness,  that  it 
was  impossible  not  to  conceive  a  sort  of  affection  for 
him.    Towards  the  end  of  the  dinner  he  and  Sir  Francis 

309 


PRINCE  PtJCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

Burdett  told  ghost-stories,  half  terrible,  half  humorous, 
one  against  the  other.  ...  A  little  concert  concluded 
the  evening,  in  which  the  very  pretty  daughter  of  the  great 
bard — a  healthy-looking  Highland  beauty — took  part, 
and  Miss  Stephens  sang  nothing  but  Scottish  ballads.' 

Before  entering  upon  a  new  field  of  observation,  the 
prince  summed  up  his  general  impressions  of  London 
society  with  a  candour  that  cannot  have  been  very 
agreeable  to  his  English  readers.  The  goddess  of 
Fashion,  he  observes,  reigns  in  England  alone  with  a 
despotic  and  inexorable  sway ;  while  the  spirit  of  caste 
here  receives  a  power,  consistency,  and  completeness  of 
development  unexampled  in  any  other  country.  '  Every 
class  of  society  in  England,  as  well  as  every  field,  is 
separated  from  every  other  by  a  hedge  of  thorns.  Each 
has  its  own  manners  and  turns  of  expression,  and,  above 
all,  a  supreme  and  absolute  contempt  for  all  below  it. 
.  .  .  Now  although  the  aristocracy  does  not  stand  as 
such  upon  the  pinnacle  of  this  strange  social  edifice,  it 
yet  exercises  great  influence  over  it.  It  is,  indeed, 
difficult  to  become  fashionable  without  being  of  good 
descent ;  but  it  by  no  means  follows  that  a  man  is  so  in 
virtue  of  being  well-born — still  less  of  being  rich. 
Ludicrous  as  it  may  sound,  it  is  a  fact  that  while  the 
present  king  is  a  very  fashionable  man,  his  father  was 
not  so  in  the  smallest  degree,  and  that  none  of  his 
brothers  have  any  pretensions  to  fashion ;  which  un- 
questionably is  highly  to  their  honour.'  The  truth  of 
this  observation  is  borne  out  by  the  story  of  Beau 
Brummell,  who,  when  offended  by  some  action  of  the 
Regent's,  exclaimed,  '  If  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on,  I 
shall  cut  Wales,  and  bring  old  George  into  fashion  ! ' 

'  A  London  exclusive  of  the  present  day,'  continues 
310 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

our  censor,  '  is  nothing  more  than  a  bad,  flat,  dull 
imitation  of  a  French  roti4  of  the  Regency.  Both  have 
in  common  selfishness,  levity,  boundless  vanity,  and  an 
utter  want  of  heart.  But  what  a  contrast  if  we  look 
further  !  In  France  the  absence  of  all  morality  and 
honesty  was  in  some  degree  atoned  for  by  the  most 
refined  courtesy,  the  poverty  of  soul  by  agreeableness 
and  wit.  What  of  all  this  has  the  English  dandy  to 
offer  ?  His  highest  triumph  is  to  appear  with  the  most 
wooden  manners,  as  little  polished  as  will  suffice  to 
avoid  castigation ;  nay,  to  contrive  even  his  civilities  so 
that  they  are  as  near  as  may  be  to  affronts — this  is  the 
style  of  deportment  that  confers  on  him  the  greatest 
celebrity.  Instead  of  a  noble,  high-bred  ease,  to  have 
the  courage  to  offend  against  every  restraint  of  decorum; 
to  invert  the  relation  in  which  his  sex  stands  to  women, 
so  that  they  appear  the  attacking,  and  he  the  passive  or 
defensive  party ;  to  cut  his  best  friends  if  they  cease  to 
have  the  strength  and  authority  of  fashion  ;  to  delight 
in  the  ineffably  fade  jargon  and  affectations  of  his  set, 
and  always  to  know  what  is  "the  thing'' — these  are 
the  accomplishments  that  distinguish  a  young  "  lion  "^  of 
fashion.  Whoever  reads  the  best  of  the  recent  English 
novels — those  by  the  author  of  Pelham — may  be  able  to 
abstract  from  them  a  tolerably  just  idea  of  English 
fashionable  society,  provided  he  does  not  forget  to 
deduct  qualities  which  the  national  self-love  has  errone- 
ously claimed — namely,  grace  for  its  rou^jr,  seductive 
manners  and  witty  conversation  for  its  dandies.' 

The  foregoing  is  a  summary  of  the  prince's  lengthy 
indictment  against  London  society.  *I  saw  in  the 
fashionable  world,'  he  observes  in  conclusion,  *  only  too 
frequently,  and  with  few  exceptions,  a  profound  vulgarity 

811 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

of  thought ;  an  immorality  little  veiled  or  adorned  ;  the 
most  undisguised  arrogance ;  and  the  coarsest  neglect  of 
all  kindly  feelings  and  attentions  haughtily  assumed  for 
the  sake  of  shining  in  a  false  and  despicable  refinement ; 
even  more  inane  and  intolerable  to  a  healthy  mind  than 
the  awkward  stiffness  of  the  declared  Nobodies.  It  has 
been  said  that  vice  and  poverty  form  the  most  revolting 
combination ;  since  I  have  been  in  England,  vice  and 
boorish  rudeness  seem  to  me  to  form  a  still  more 
disgusting  union.' 

The  prince's  adventures  in  Wales  and  Ireland,  with 
the  recital  of  which  he  has  filled  up  the  best  part  of 
two  volumes,  must  here  be  dismissed  in  as  many  para- 
graphs. On  his  tour  through  Wales,  he  left  his  card 
on  the  Ladies  of  Llangollen,  who  promptly  invited  him 
to  lunch.  Fortunately,  he  had  previously  been  warned 
of  his  hostesses'  peculiarities  of  dress  and  appearance. 
*  Imagine,'  he  writes,  '  two  ladies,  the  elder  of  whom. 
Lady  Eleanor  Butler,  a  short,  robust  woman,  begins  to 
feel  her  years  a  little,  being  nearly  eighty- three ;  the 
other,  a  tall  and  imposing  person,  esteems  herself  still 
youthful,  being  only  seventy-four.  Both  wore  their 
still  abundant  hair  combed  straight  back  and  powdered, 
a  round  man's  hat,  a  man's  cravat  and  waistcoat,  but 
in  the  place  of  "  inexpressibles,"  a  short  petticoat  and 
boots  :  the  whole  covered  by  a  coat  of  blue  cloth,  of 
quite  a  peculiar  cut.  Over  this  Lady  Eleanor  wore, 
first  the  grand  cordon  of  the  order  of  St.  Louis  across 
her  shoulders ;  secondly,  the  same  order  round  her 
neck ;  thirdly,  the  small  cross  of  the  same  in  her  button- 
hole ;  and,  pour  comble  de  gloire,  a  golden  lily  of  nearly 
the  natural  size  as  a  star.  So  far  the  effect  was  some- 
what ludicrous.  But  now  you  must  imagine  both  ladies 
31^ 


PRINCE  PtTCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

with  that  agreeable  auance,  that  air  of  the  world  of 
the  aiicien  regime^  courteous,  entertaining,  without  the 
slightest  affectation,  speaking  French  as  well  as  any 
Englishwoman  of  my  acquaintance ;  and,  above  all,  with 
that  essentially  polite,  unconstrained,  simply  cheerful 
manner  of  the  good  society  of  that  day,  which  in  our 
hard-working,  business  age  appears  to  be  going  to  utter 
decay.' 

Thanks  to  his  letters  of  introduction  and  the  friend- 
ships that  he  struck  up  on  the  road,  the  prince  was  able 
occasionally  to  step  out  of  the  beaten  tourist  tracks, 
and  to  see  something  of  the  more  intimate  side  of  Irish 
social  life.  He  has  given  a  lively  and  picturesque 
account  of  his  experiences,  which  included  an  introduc- 
tion to  Lady  Morgan,^  and  to  her  charming  nieces, 
the  Miss  Clarkes  (who  made  a  profound  impression  on 
his  susceptible  heart),  a  sentimental  journey  through 
Wicklow,  a  glance  at  the  humours  of  Donnybrook  Fair, 
a  visit  to  O'Connell  at  Derrinane  Abbey,  a  peep  into 
the  wilds  of  Connaught,  an  Emancipation  dinner  at 
Cashel,  where  he  made  his  cUhut  as  an  English  orator, 
and  an  expedition  to  the  lakes  of  Killaniey.  All  this, 
which  was  probably  novel  and  interesting  to  the  German 
public,  contains  little  that  is  not  familiar  to  the  modem 
English  reader.  The  sketch  of  CConnell  is  sufficiently 
vivid  to  bear  quotation. 

'Daniel  O'Connell,**  observes  the  prince,  after  his 
visit  to  Derrinane,  'is  no  common  man — though  the 
man  of  the  commonalty.  His  power  is  so  great  that 
at  this  moment  it  only  depends  on  him  to  raise  the 
standard  of  rebellion  from  one  end  of  the  island  to  the 
other.  He  is,  however,  too  sharp-sighted,  and  much 
*  Se«  page  142. 

S18 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

too  sure  of  attaining  his  ends  by  safer  means,  to  wish 
to  bring  on  any  such  violent  crisis.  He  has  certainly 
shown  great  dexterity  in  availing  himself  of  the  temper 
of  the  country  at  this  moment,  legally,  openly,  and  in 
the  face  of  Government,  to  acquire  a  power  scarcely 
inferior  to  that  of  the  sovereign ;  indeed,  though  with- 
out arms  or  armies,  in  some  instances  far  surpassing  it. 
For  how  would  it  have  been  possible  for  his  Majesty 
George  iv.  to  withhold  40,000  of  his  faithful  Irish- 
men for  three  days  from  whisky  drinking  ?  which 
O'Connell  actually  accomplished  in  the  memorable  Clare 
election.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  people  rose  to  such 
a  height  that  they  themselves  decreed  and  inflicted  a 
punishment  for  drunkenness.  The  delinquent  was 
thrown  into  the  river,  and  held  there  for  two  hours, 
during  which  time  he  was  made  to  undergo  frequent 
submersions.  .  .  .  On  the  whole,  O'Connell  exceeded 
my  expectations.  His  exterior  is  attractive,  and  the 
expression  of  intelligent  good-humour,  united  with 
determination  and  prudence,  which  marks  his  counten- 
ance, is  extremely  winning.  He  has  perhaps  more  of 
persuasiveness  than  of  large  and  lofty  eloquence ;  and 
one  frequently  perceives  too  much  design  and  manner 
in  his  words.  Nevertheless,  it  is  impossible  not  to 
follow  his  powerful  arguments  with  interest,  to  view  the 
martial  dignity  of  his  carriage  without  pleasure,  or  to 
refrain  from  laughing  at  his  wit.  .  .  .  He  has  received 
from  Nature  an  invaluable  gift  for  a  party-leader,  a 
magnificent  voice,  united  to  good  lungs  and  a  strong 
constitution.  His  understanding  is  sharp  and  quick, 
and  his  acquirements  out  of  his  profession  not  incon- 
siderable. With  all  this  his  manners  are,  as  I  have 
said,  winning  and  popular,  though  somewhat  of  the 
314 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

actor  is  noticeable  in  them ;  they  do  not  conceal  his 
very  high  opinion  of  himself,  and  are  occasionally 
tinged  by  what  an  Englishman  would  call  vulgarity. 
But  where  is  there  a  picture  without  shade  ?  "* 

The  prince's  matrimonial  projects  had  been  pursued 
only  in  half-hearted  fashion  during  this  year,  and  on 
his  return  to  England  in  December,  he  seems  to  have 
thrown  up  the  game  in  despair.  On  January  2, 
1829,  he  turned  his  back  on  our  perfidious  shores,  and 
made  a  short  tour  in  France  before  proceeding  to 
Muskau.  In  one  of  his  letters  to  Lucie  he  admits  that 
on  his  return  journey  he  had  plenty  of  material  for 
reflection.  Two  precious  years  had  been  wasted,  absence 
from  his  dearest  friend  had  been  endured,  a  large  sum 
of  money  had  been  spent  in  keeping  up  a  dashing 
appearance — and  all  in  vain.  He  consoles  himself  with 
the  amazing  reflection  that  Parry  had  failed  in  three 
attempts  to  reach  the  North  Pole,  and  Bonaparte, 
after  heaping  victory  on  victory  for  twenty  years,  had 
perished  miserably  in  St.  Helena ! 

But  if  the  prince  had  not  accomplished  his  design 
of  carrying  off"  a  British  heiress,  his  sojourn  in  England 
brought  him  a  prize  of  a  different  kind — namely,  the 
laurel  crown  of  fame.  His  Bricfe  cims  Verstorbctien^ 
the  first  volumes  of  which  were  published  anonymously 
in  1830,  was  greeted  with  an  almost  unanimous 
outburst  of  admiration  and  applause.  ITie  critics 
vied  with  each  other  in  praising  a  work  in  which, 
according  to  their  venlicl,  the  grace  and  pi(|uancy  of 
France  were  combined  with  the  analytical  methods  and 
the  profound  philosophy  of  Germany.  In  England,  as 
was  only  to  be  expected,  the  chorus  of  applause  was  not 
unmixed  with   hisses  and  catcalls.       llie  author  luul, 

di5 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

however,  been  exceptionally  fortunate  in  his  translator, 
Sarah  Austin,  whose  version  of  the  Letters,  entitled 
The  Tour  of  a  Gerinan  Prince,  was  described  by  the 
Westminster  Review  as  '  the  best  modern  translation  of 
a  prose  work  that  has  ever  appeared,  and  perhaps  our 
only  translation  from  the  German.  As  an  original 
work,  the  ease  and  facility  of  the  style  would  be  admired ; 
as  a  translation,  it  is  unrivalled.'  Croker  reviewed  the 
book  in  the  Quarterly  in  his  accustomed  strain  of 
playful  brutality,  rejoiced  savagely  over  the  numerous 
blunders,^  and  credited  the  author  with  almost  as  many 
blasphemies  as  Lady  Morgan  herself.  The  Edinburgh, 
in  a  more  impartial  notice,  observed  that  a  great  part 
of  the  work  had  no  other  merit  than  that  of  being  an 
act  of  individual  treachery  against  the  hospitalities  of 
private  life,  and  commented  on  the  fact  that  while  the 
masterpieces  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  were  still  untrans- 
lated, the  Tour  of  Prince  PiicMer-MusJcau  had  been 
bought  up  in  a  month. 

The  prince  was  far  too  vain  of  his  unexpected  literary 
success  to  preserve  his  anonymity,  and  the  ink-craving 
having  laid  hold  upon  him,  he  lost  no  time  in  setting 
to  work  upon  another  book.  The  semblance  of  a 
separation  between  himself  and  Lucie  had  now  been 
thrown  aside.  During  the  summer  months  they  lived 
at  Muskau,  where  they  laboured  together  over  plans 
for  the  embellishment  of  the  gardens,  while  in  the 
winter  they  kept  up  a  splendid  establishment  in  Berlin. 
The  sight  of  a  divorced  couple  living  together  seems  to 
have  shocked  the  Berliners  far  more  than  that  of  a 
married    couple    living    apart,    but    to    Piickler,    as    a 

1  The  most  amusing  of  these  is  the  derivation  of  the  Prince  of  Wales' 
motto  '  Ich  dien '  from  two  Welsh  words,  *  Eich  deyn,'  said  to  signify 
*  This  is  your  man  ! ' 

316 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

chartered  *  original,''  much  was  forgiven.  At  this  time 
he  went  a  good  deal  into  literary  society,  and  became 
intimate  with  several  women-writers,  among  them  the 
Griifin  Hahn-Hahn,  Rahel,  and  that  amazing  lady, 
Bettine  von  Amim.  With  the  last-named  he  struck 
up  an  intellectual  friendship  which  roused  the  jealousy 
of  Lucie,  and  was  finally  wrecked  by  Bettine'*s  attempts 
to  obtain  a  spiritual  empire  over  the  lord  of  Muskau. 

In  1832  the  prince's  debts  amounted  to  600,000 
thalers,  and  he  was  obliged  once  again  to  face  the  fact 
that  he  could  only  save  himself  from  ruin  by  a  wealthy 
marriage,  or  by  the  sale  of  his  estate.  In  a  long  letter 
he  laid  the  state  of  the  case  before  his  faithful  com- 
panion, pointing  out  that  even  at  forty-seven,  he,  with  his 
title  and  his  youthful  appearance,  might  hope  to  secure 
a  bride  worth  300,000  thalers,  but  that  as  long  as  his 
ex-wife  remained  at  Muskau  he  was  hardly  likely  to  be 
successful  in  his  matrimonial  speculations.  Lucie  again 
consented  to  sacrifice  herself  in  the  good  cause ;  but  the 
prince,  a  man  of  innumerable  bonnes  fortunes  according 
to  his  ovm  account,  was  curiously  unfortunate  as  a 
would-be  Benedick.  The  German  heiresses  were  no  more 
propitious  to  his  suit  than  the  English  ones  had  been ; 
and  though,  as  he  plaintively  obsen'es,  he  would  have 
liked  nothing  better  than  to  be  a  Turkish  pasha  with 
a  hundred  and  fifty  sultanas,  he  was  unable  to  obtain  a 
single  Christian  wife. 

In  1834  the  prince  published  two  books,  Tutti 
Fruttij  a  collection  of  stories  and  sketches,  and  Obierva- 
tians  on  iMndscaiie-Gardening,  Tutti  Frutti  was  by  no 
means  so  popular  as  the  Rriefe  einrs  Verstorbenen^  but 
the  OhscrvcUions  took  rank  as  a  standard  work.  The 
project  of  a  journey  to  America  having  been  abandoned, 

817 


PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

the  prince  now  determined  to  spend  the  winter  in 
Algiers,  leaving  Lucie  in  charge  at  Muskau.  This 
modest  programme  enlarged  itself  into  a  tour  in  the 
East,  which  lasted  for  more  than  five  years.  The 
traveller's  adventures  during  this  period  have  been 
described  in  his  Semilasso  in  Africa,  Aus  Mehemefs 
Reich,  Die  Rilckkehr,  and  other  works,  which  added  to 
their  author's  fame,  and  nearly  sufficed  to  pay  his 
expenses.  We  hear  of  him  breaking  hearts  at  Tunis 
and  Athens,  shooting  big  game  in  the  Soudan,  astonish- 
ing the  Arabs  by  his  horsemanship,  and  meddling  in 
Egyptian  politics.  It  was  not  until  1838  that,  moved 
by  Lucie's  complaints  of  her  loneliness,  he  reluctantly 
abandoned  his  plan  of  settling  in  the  East,  and  turned 
his  face  towards  Europe.  On  the  homeward  journey  he 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem,  and  turned  out  of  his 
course  for  the  visit  to  Lady  Hester  Stanhope  that  has 
already  been  described.^ 

His  Highness  arrived  at  Vienna  in  the  autumn  of  1839, 
bringing  in  his  suite  an  Abyssinian  slave-girl,  Machbuba, 
whom  he  had  bought  a  couple  of  years  before,  and  who 
had  developed  such  wonderful  qualities  of  head  and 
heart,  that  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  part  from 
her.  But  Lucie  obstinately  refused  to  receive  Machbuba 
at  Muskau,  and  declared  that  the  prince's  reputation 
would  be  destroyed  for  ever,  if  he  brought  a  favourite 
slave  under  the  same  roof  as  his  '  wife,'  and  thus  sinned 
against  the  laws  of  outward  seemliness.  So  Machbuba 
and  the  master  who,  like  another  Pygmalion,  seems  to 
have  endowed  this  dusky  Galatea  with  a  mind  and  soul, 
remained  at  Vienna,  where  the  Abyssinian,  clad  in  a 
picturesque  Mameluke's  costume,  accompanied  the  prince 
*  See  page  269. 

318 


PRLNCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

to  all  the  public  spectacles,  and  became  a  nine  days' 
wonder  to  the  novelty-loving  Viennese.  But  the  severity 
of  a  European  winter  proved  fatal  to  poor  Machbuba, 
consumption  laid  its  grip  upon  her,  and  it  was  as  a 
dying  girl  that  at  last  she  was  taken  to  the  Baths 
of  Muskau.  Lucie  received  this  once-dreaded  rival 
kindly,  but  at  once  carried  off  the  prince  for  a  visit  to 
Berlin,  and  in  the  absence  of  the  master  whom  she 
worshipped  with  a  spaniel-like  devotion,  Machbuba 
breathed  her  last.  The  slave-girl  was  laid  to  rest  amid 
all  the  pomp  and  ceremony  of  a  state  funeral,  the 
principal  inhabitants  of  Muskau  and  the  neighbourhood 
followed  her  to  her  grave,  and  on  the  Sunday  following 
her  death  the  chaplain  delivered  a  eulogy  on  Machbuba's 
virtues,  and  the  fatherly  benevolence  of  her  master. 

The  prince  was  temporarily  broken-hearted  at  the 
death  of  his  favourite,  but  his  mercurial  spirits  soon 
reasserted  themselves,  and  a  round  of  visits  to  the  various 
German  courts  restored  him  to  his  accustomed  self- 
complacency.  The  idea  of  selling  Muskau,  and  thus 
ridding  himself  of  the  burden  of  his  debts,  once  more 
occupied  his  mind.  A  handsome  offer  for  the  estate 
had  been  refused  a  few  years  before,  in  compliance 
with  the  wishes  of  Lucie,  who  loved  Muskau  even  better 
than  its  master,  and  had  ap|)ealed  to  the  king  to  pre- 
vent the  sale.  But  in  1845  came  another  offer  from 
Count  Hatzfeld  of  1,700,000  thalers,  which,  in  spite  of 
Lucie'*s  tears  and  entreaties,  the  prince  decided  to  accept. 
Although  it  cost  him  a  sharp  pang  to  give  up  to  another 
the  spot  of  earth  on  which  he  had  lavished  so  much 
time,  so  much  labour,  and  so  much  money,  he  fully 
appreciated  the  advantage  of  an  unembarrassed  income 
and  complete  freedom  of  movement. 

819 


PRINCE  PUCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

For  a  year  or  two  after  the  sale,  he  led  a  wandering 
life,  with  Berlin  or  Weimar  for  his  headquarters.  In 
1846,  shortly  before  his  sixtieth  birthday,  he  met,  so  he 
confided  to  the  long-suffering  Lucie,  the  only  woman 
he  had  ever  loved,  or  at  least  the  only  woman  he  had 
ever  desired  to  marry.  Unfortunately,  the  lady,  who 
was  young,  beautiful,  clever,  of  high  rank,  large  fortune, 
and  angelic  disposition,  had  been  married  for  some  years 
to  a  husband  who  is  described  as  ugly,  ill-tempered, 
jealous,  and  incredibly  selfish.  The  prince's  letters  at 
this  period  are  filled  with  raptures  over  the  virtues  of 
his  new  inamorata,  and  lamentations  that  he  had  met 
her  too  late.  For  though  his  passion  was  returned  the 
lady  was  a  strict  Catholic,  for  whom  a  divorce  was  out 
of  the  question,  and  for  once  this  hardened  Lothario 
shrank  from  an  elopement,  with  the  resultant  stain  upon 
the  reputation  of  the  woman  he  loved.  In  1846  he 
parted  from  his  affinity,  who  survived  the  separation 
little  more  than  a  year,  and  retired  with  a  heavy  heart 
to  his  paternal  castle  of  Branitz,  near  Kottbus,  where  he 
occupied  himself  in  planting  a  park  and  laying  out 
gardens.  Branitz  was  only  about  a  tenth  part  the  size 
of  Muskau,  and  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  sandy  waste, 
but  at  more  than  sixty  years  of  age  the  prince  set  him- 
self, with  all  the  ardour  of  youth,  to  conjure  a  paradise 
out  of  the  wilderness.  Forest  trees  were  transplanted, 
lakes  and  canals  dug,  hills  appeared  out  of  the  level 
fields,  and,  in  short,  this  '  earth-tamer,'  as  Rahel  called 
him,  created  not  only  a  park,  but  a  complete  landscape. 

The  remainder  of  our  hero's  eventful  career  must  be 

briefly  summarised.       In    1851    he   made   a  flight   to 

England  to  see  the  Great  Exhibition.    Here  he  renewed 

his   acquaintance  with   many  old  friends,  among  them 

320 


PRINCE  PtrCKLER-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

the  Duchess  of  Somerset,  who  told  him  that  she  had 
known  his  father  well  twenty-five  years  before.  The  prince, 
who  has  been  described  as  a  male  Ninon  de  UEnclos, 
was  naturally  delighted  at  being  mistaken  for  his  own 
son.  In  1852  the  work  at  Branitz  was  so  far  advanced 
that  its  lord  invited  Lucie  to  come  and  take  up  her 
abode  at  the  Schloss.  But  the  poor  lady's  troubled  life 
was  nearing  its  close.  She  had  a  paralytic  stroke  in  the 
autumn  of  this  year,  and  remained  an  invalid  until  her 
death,  which  took  place  at  Branitz  in  May,  1854. 

In  the  loneliness  that  followed,  the  prince  amused 
himself  by  keeping  up  a  lively  correspondence  with  his 
feminine  acquaintance,  for  whom,  even  at  seventy,  he 
had  not  lost  his  fascinations.  His  celebrity  as  an  author 
and  a  traveller  brought  him  many  anonymous  correspond- 
ents, and  he  never  wearied  of  reading  and  answering 
the  sentimental  effusions  of  his  unknown  admirers.  In 
1863  he  paid  a  visit  incognito  to  Muskau,  the  first  since 
he  had  left  it  eighteen  years  before,  though  Branitz  was 
but  a  few  leagues  away.  He  was  recognised  at  once, 
and  great  was  the  joy  in  the  little  town  over  the  return 
of  its  old  ruler,  who  was  honoured  with  illuminations, 
the  discharge  of  cannon,  and  torchlight  processions. 
The  estate  had  passed  into  the  hands  of  Prince  Frederick 
of  the  Netherlands,  who  had  carried  out  all  its  former 
master's  plans,  and  added  many  improvements  of  his 
own.  PiJckler  generously  admired  the  splendour  that 
he  had  had  so  large  a  share  in  creating,  and  then  went 
contentedly  back  to  his  kltittt  BranitZy  his  only  regret 
being  that  he  could  not  live  to  see  it,  like  Muskau,  in 
the  fulness  of  its  matured  beauty.  In  1866,  when  war 
broke  out  between  Prussia  and  Austria,  this  grand  old 
of  eighty-one  volunteered  for  active  service,  and 
X  381 


PRINCE  PtrCKI^R-MUSKAU  IN  ENGLAND 

begged  to  be  attached  to  the  headquarters'*  staff.  His 
request  was  granted,  and  he  went  gallantly  through  the 
brief  campaign,  but  was  bitterly  disappointed  because 
he  was  not  able  to  be  present  at  the  battle  of  Kdnig- 
gratz,  owing  to  the  indisposition  of  the  king,  upon 
whom  he  was  in  attendance. 

In  1870,  when  France  declared  war  against  Prussia, 
he  again  volunteered,  and  was  deeply  mortified  when 
the  king  declined  his  services  on  account  of  his  advanced 
age.  For  the  first  time  he  seems  to  have  realised  that 
he  was  old,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  disappointment 
preyed  upon  his  spirits,  for  his  strength  rapidly  declined, 
his  memory  failed,  and  on  February  4, 1871,  after  a  brief 
illness,  he  sank  peacefully  to  rest.  He  was  buried  in  a 
tomb  that  he  had  built  for  himself  many  years  before,  a 
pyramid  sixty  feet  high,  which  stood  upon  an  acre  of 
ground  in  the  centre  of  an  artificial  lake.  The  two 
inscriptions  that  the  prince  chose  for  his  sepulchre 
illustrate,  appropriately  enough,  the  sharply  contrasting 
qualities  of  his  strange  individuality — his  romantic 
sentimentality,  and  his  callous  cynicism.  The  first 
inscription  was  a  line  from  the  Koran : 

'Graves  are  the  mountain  summits  of  a  far-oflF,  fairer  world.' 

The  second,  chosen  presumably  for  the  sake  of  the 
paradox,  was  the  French  apothegm  : 

'Aliens 

Chez 

Pluton  plutot  plus  tard.' 


WILLIAM  AND    MARY   HOWITT 


I 


WILLIAM   AND   MARY   HOWITT 

PART   I 

The  names  of  William  and  Mary  Howitt  are  inex- 
tricably associated  with  the  England  of  the  early  nine- 
teenth century,  with  the  re-discovery  of  the  beauty  and 
interest  of  their  native  land,  with  the  renaissance  of  the 
national  passion  for  country  pleasures  and  country  pur- 
suits, and  with  the  slow,  painful  struggle  for  a  wider 
freedom,  a  truer  humanity,  a  fuller,  more  gracious  life. 
The  Howitts  had  no  genius,  nor  were  they  pioneers, 
but,  where  the  unfamiliar  was  concerned,  they  were 
open-minded  and  receptive  to  a  degree  that  is  unfor- 
tunately rare  in  persons  of  their  perfect  uprightness  and 
strong  natural  piety.  If  they  flashed  no  new  radiance 
upon  the  world,  they  were  always  among  the  first  to 
kindle  their  little  torches  at  the  new  lamps ;  and  they 
did  good  service  in  handing  back  the  light  to  those 
who,  but  for  them,  would  have  had  sat  in  the  shadow, 
and  Hung  stones  at  the  incomprehensible  illuminations. 

Of  the  two  minds,  Mary's  was  the  finer  and  the  more 
original.  It  was  one  of  those  everj'day  miracles — the 
miracles  that  do  happen — that  in  spite  of  the  severity, 
the  narrowness,  the  repression  of  her  early  training,  she 
should  have  forced  her  way  through  the  shell  of  rigid 
sectarianism,  repudiated  her  heritage  of  drab  denials, 
and  opened  both  heart  and  mind  to  the  new  poetry,  the 

3t5 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

new  art,  and  the  new  knowledge.  In  her  husband  she 
found  a  kindred  spirit,  and  during  the  more  than  fifty 
years  of  their  pilgrimage  together  their  eyes  were  ever 
turned  towards  the  same  goal.  Though  not  equally 
gifted,  they  were  equally  disinterested,  equally  en- 
lightened, and  equally  anxious  for  the  advancement 
of  humanity.  They  took  themselves  and  their  vocation 
seriously,  and  produced  an  immense  quantity  of  careful, 
conscientious  work,  the  work  of  honest  craftsmen  rather 
than  artists,  with  the  quality  of  a  finished  piece  of 
cabinet-making,  or  a  strip  of  fine  embroidery. 

Mary  Howitt  was  the  daughter  of  Samuel  Botham, 
a  land-surveyor  at  Uttoxeter.  His  father,  the  descend- 
ant of  a  long  line  of  Staffordshire  yeomen,  Quakers  by 
persuasion,  loved  a  roaming  life,  and  having  married  a 
maltster's  widow  with  a  talent  for  business  management, 
was  left  free  to  indulge  his  own  propensities.  He 
seems  to  have  had  a  talent  for  medical  science  of  an 
empirical  kind,  for  he  dabbled  in  magnetism  and 
electricity,  and  wandered  about  the  country  collecting 
herbs  for  headache  -  snufFs,  and  healing  ointments. 
Samuel,  as  soon  as  he  had  served  his  apprenticeship, 
found  plenty  of  employment  in  the  neighbourhood, 
the  country  gentlemen,  who  had  taken  alarm  at 
the  revolutionary  ideas  newly  introduced  from  France, 
being  anxious  to  have  their  acres  measured,  and  their 
boundaries  accurately  defined.  While  at  work  upon 
Lord  Talbot's  Welsh  estates  in  1795,  he  became 
attracted  by  a  '  convinced  '  Friend,  named  Ann  Wood. 
The  interesting  discovery  that  both  had  a  passion  for 
nuts,  together  with  the  gentle  match-making  of  a 
Quaker  patriarch,  led  to  an  engagement,  and  the  couple 
were  married  in  December,  1796. 
326 


I 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

Ann  Wood  was  the  granddaughter  of  William  Wood, 
whose  contract  for  supplying  Ireland  with  copper  coin 
(obtained  by  bribing  the  Duchess  of  Kendal)  was  turned 
into  a  national  grievance  by  Swift,  and  led  to  the  publi- 
cation of  the  Drapier  Letters.  Although  Wood's  half- 
pence were  admitted  to  be  excellent  coin,  and  Ireland 
was  short  of  copper,  the  feeling  against  their  circulation 
was  so  intense,  that  Ministers  were  obliged  to  withdraw 
the  patent.  Wood  being  compensated  for  his  losses  with 
a  grant  of  £3000  a  year  for  a  term  of  years,  and 
'  places '  for  some  of  his  fifteen  children.  Ann's  father, 
Charles,  when  very  young,  was  appointed  assay-master 
to  Jamaica.  After  his  return  to  England  in  middle 
life  he  married  a  lively  widow,  went  into  business  as 
an  iron-master  near  Merthyr  Tydvil,  and  distinguished 
himself  by  introducing  platinum  into  Europe,  having 
first  met  with  the  semi-metal  in  Jamaica,  whither  it  had 
been  brought  from  Carthagena  in  New  Spain.  After 
his  death,  Ann,  the  only  serious  member  of  a  *  worldly  ** 
family,  found  it  impossible  to  remain  in  the  frivolous 
atmosphere  of  her  home,  and  determined,  in  modem 
fashion,  to  *  live  her  own  life.'  After  spending  some 
years  as  governess  or  companion  in  various  families,  she 
became  converted  to  Quaker  doctrines,  and  was  received 
into  the  Society  of  Friends. 

Samuel  Botham  took  his  bride  to  live  in  the  [Mttemal 
home  at  Uttoxeter,  where  the  preparation  of  the  old 
quack  doctor's  herbal  medicines  caused  her  a  great  deal 
of  discomfort.  In  the  course  of  the  next  three  years 
two  daughters  were  bom  to  the  couple;  Anna  in  1797,' 
and  Mary  on  March  1 2,  1 799.  At  the  time  of  Mary's 
birth  her  parents  were  passing  through  a  period  of 
pecuniary  distress,  owing  to  a  disastrous  speculation  ;  but 

327 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

with  the  opening  of  the  new  century  a  piece  of  great 
good  fortune  befell  Samuel  Botham.  He  was  one  of  the 
two  surveyors  chosen  to  enclose  and  divide  the  Chase  of 
Needwood  in  the  county  of  Stafford.  In  the  early  years 
of  the  nineteenth  century  there  was,  unfortunately  for 
England,  a  mania  for  enclosing  commons,  and  felling 
ancient  forests.  Needwood,  which  extended  for  many 
miles,  contained  great  numbers  of  magnificent  old  oaks, 
limes,  and  hollies,  and  no  less  than  twenty  thousand 
head  of  deer.  In  after  years,  Mary  Howitt  often  re- 
gretted that  her  family  should  have  had  a  hand  in  the 
destruction  of  so  vast  an  extent  of  solitude  and  beauty, 
in  a  country  that  was  already  thickly  populated  and 
trimly  cultivated.  Still,  for  the  nine  years  that  the 
work  of  '  disafforesting '  lasted,  the  two  little  girls  got 
a  great  deal  of  enjoyment  out  of  the  ruined  Chase, 
spending  long  summer  days  in  its  grassy  glades,  while 
their  father  parcelled  out  the  land  and  marked  trees  for 
the  axe. 

In  Yi&c  Autobiography^  Mary  declares  that  it  is  impos- 
sible for  her  to  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the  stillness 
and  isolation  of  her  childish  life.  So  intense  was  the 
silence  of  the  Quaker  household,  that,  at  four  years  old, 
Anna  had  to  be  sent  to  a  dame's-school  in  order  that 
she  might  learn  to  talk ;  while  even  after  both  children 
had  attained  the  use  of  speech,  their  ignorance  of  the 
right  names  for  the  most  ordinary  feelings  and  actions 
obliged  them  to  coin  words  of  their  own.  '  My  child- 
hood was  happy  in  many  respects,'  she  writes.  '  It  was 
so,  as  far  as  physical  health,  the  enjoyment  of  a  beautiful 
country,  and  the  companionship  of  a  dearly  loved  sister 

^  Edited  by  her  daughter  Margaret,  and  published  by  Messrs.  Isbister 
in  1889. 

328 


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WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

could  make  it — but  oh,  there  was  such  a  cloud  over  all 
from  the  extreme  severity  of  a  so-called  religious  educa- 
tion, it  almost  made  cowards  and  hypocrites  of  us,  and 
made  us  feel  that,  if  this  were  religion,  it  was  a  thing 
to  be  feared  and  hated/  The  family  reading  consisted 
chiefly  of  the  writings  of  Madame  Guyon,  Thomas  k 
Kempis,  and  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  while  for  light  litera- 
ture there  were  Telemachus,  Fox''s  Book  of  Martyrs, 
and  a  work  on  the  Persecution  of  the  Friends.  But  it 
is  impossible  for  even  the  most  pious  of  Quakers  to 
guard  against  all  the  stratagems  by  which  the  spirit  of 
evil — or  human  nature — contrives  to  gain  an  entrance 
into  a  godly  household.  In  the  case  of  the  Botham 
children  an  early  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  was  learnt 
from  an  apparently  respectable  nurse,  who  made  her 
little  charges  acquainted  with  most  of  the  scandals  of 
the  neighbourhood,  accustomed  their  infant  ears  to 
oaths,  and — most  terrible  of  all — taught  them  to  play 
whist,  she  herself  taking  dummy,  and  transforming  the 
nursery  tea-tray  into  a  card-table.  In  that  silent 
household  it  was  easy  to  keep  a  secret,  and  though  the 
little  girls  often  trembled  at  their  nurse^s  language,  they 
never  betrayed  her  confidence. 

In  1806  another  daughter,  Emma,  was  bom  to  the 
Bothams,  and  in  1808  a  son,  Charles.  In  the  midst  of 
their  joy  and  amazement  at  the  news  that  they  had 
a  brother,  the  little  girls  asked  each  other  anxiously : 
•Will  our  parents  like  it?'  Only  a  short  time  before 
a  stranger  had  inquired  if  they  had  any  brothers,  and 
they  had  replied  in  all  seriousness  :  *  Oh  no,  our  parents 
do  not  approve  of  boys.'  Now,  much  to  their  relief, 
they  found  that  their  father  and  mother  highly  approved 
of  their  own  boy,  who  became  the  spoilt  darling  of  the 

329 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

austere  household.  A  new  nurse  was  engaged  for  the 
son  and  heir,  a  lady  of  many  love-affairs,  who  made 
Mary  her  confidante,  and  induced  the  child,  then  nine 
years  old,  to  write  an  imaginary  love-letter.  The  un- 
lucky letter  was  laid  between  the  pages  of  the  worthy 
Madame  Guyon,  and  there  discovered  by  Mr.  Botham. 
Not  much  was  said  on  the  subject  of  the  document, 
which  seems  to  have  been  considered  too  awful  to  bear 
discussion ;  but  the  children  were  removed  from  the 
influence  of  the  nurse,  and  allowed  to  attend  a  day- 
school  in  the  neighbourhood,  though  only  on  condition 
that  they  sat  apart  from  the  other  children  in  order  to 
avoid  contamination  with  possible  worldlings. 

In  1809  the  two  elder  sisters  were  sent  to  a  Quaker 
school  at  Croydon,  where  they  found  themselves  the 
youngest,  the  most  provincial,  and  the  worst  dressed  of 
the  little  community.  Even  in  advanced  old  age,  Mary 
had  a  keen  memory  for  the  costumes  of  her  childhood, 
and  the  mortification  that  these  had  caused  her.  On 
their  arrival  at  school  the  little  girls  were  attired  in 
brown  pelisses,  cut  plain  and  straight,  without  plait 
or  fold,  and  hooked  down  the  front  to  obviate  the 
necessity  for  buttons,  which,  being  in  the  nature  of 
trimmings,  were  regarded  as  an  indulgence  of  the  lust 
of  the  eye.  On  their  heads  they  wore  little  drab 
beaver  bonnets,  also  destitute  of  trimmings,  and  so 
plain  in  shape  that  even  the  Quaker  hatter  had  to  order 
special  blocks  for  their  manufacture.  The  other  girls 
were  busy  over  various  kinds  of  fashionable  fancy-work, 
but  the  little  Bothams  were  expected,  in  their  leisure 
moments,  to  make  half-a-dozen  linen  shirts  for  their 
father,  button-holes  and  all.  They  had  never  learnt  to 
net,  to  weave  coloured  paper  into  baskets,  to  plait  split 
330 


I 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HO^VITT 

straw  into  patterns,  nor  any  of  the  other  amateur  handi- 
crafts of  the  day.  But  they  were  clever  with  their 
fingers,  and  could  copy  almost  anything  that  they  had 
seen  done.  '  We  could  buckle  flax  or  spin  a  rope,'  writes 
Mary.  '  We  could  drive  a  nail,  put  in  a  screw  or  draw 
it  out.  We  knew  the  use  of  a  glue-pot,  and  how  to 
paper  a  room.  We  soon  furnished  ourselves  with 
coloured  paper  for  plaiting,  and  straw  to  split  and 
weave  into  net ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  my  admira- 
tion of  a  pattern  of  diamonds  woven  with  strips  of  gold 
j)aper  on  a  black  ground.  It  was  my  first  attempt  at 
artistic  handiwork.** 

After  a  few  months  at  Croydon  the  girls  were  re- 
called to  Uttoxeter  on  account  of  their  mother'^s  illness ; 
and  as  soon  as  she  recovered  they  were  despatched  to 
another  Friends'  school  at  Sheffield.  In  1812,  when 
Mary  was  only  thirteen  and  Anna  fifteen,  their  educa- 
tion was  supposed  to  be  completed,  and  they  returned 
home  for  good.  But  Mr.  Botham  was  dissatisfied  with 
his  daughters"  attainments,  and  engaged  the  master  of 
the  boys'  school  to  teach  them  Latin,  mathematics,  and 
the  use  of  the  globes.  The  death  of  this  instructor 
obliged  them  thenceforward  to  rely  on  a  system  of  self- 
education.  ♦  We  retained  and  perfected  our  rudimentary 
knowledge,'  Mary  writes,  *by  instructing  others.  Our 
father  fitted  up  a  school-room  for  us  in  the  stable- 
loft,  where,  twice  a  week,  we  were  allowed  to  teach 
poor  children.  In  this  room,  also,  we  instructed  our 
dear  little  brother  and  sister.  Our  father,  in  his 
beautiful  handwriting,  used  to  set  them  copies,  texts 
of  Scripture,  such  as  he  no  doubt  had  found  of 
a  consolatory  nature.  On  one  occasion,  however,  I 
set    the  copies,   and    well   remember  the   tribulation  I 

831 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

experienced  in  consequence.  I  always  warred  in  my  mind 
against  the  enforced  gloom  of  our  home,  and  having 
for  my  private  reading  at  that  time  Young's  Night 
Thoughts,  came  upon  what  seemed  to  me  the  very 
spirit  of  true  religion,  a  cheerful  heart  gathering  up 
the  joyfulness  of  surrounding  nature ;  on  which  the 
poet  says  :  "  ''Tis  impious  in  a  good  man  to  be  sad." 
How  I  rejoiced  in  this  ! — and  thinking  it  a  great  fact 
which  ought  to  be  noised  abroad,  wrote  it  down  in  my 
best  hand  as  a  copy.  It  fell  under  our  father's  eye,  and 
sorely  grieved  he  was  at  such  a  sentiment,  and  extremely 
angry  with  me  as  its  promulgator."" 

The  sisters  can  never  have  found  the  time  hang  heavy 
on  their  hands,  for  in  addition  to  their  educational 
duties,  their  mother  required  them  to  be  expert  in  all 
household  matters  ;  while,  in  their  scanty  hours  of 
leisure,  they  attempted,  in  the  face  of  every  kind  of 
discouragement,  to  satisfy  their  strong  natural  craving 
for  beauty  and  knowledge.  'We  studied  poetry, 
botany,  and  flower-painting,'  Mary  writes.  'These 
pursuits  were  almost  out  of  the  pale  of  permitted 
Quaker  pleasures,  but  we  pursued  them  with  a  perfect 
passion,  doing  in  secret  that  which  we  dared  not  do 
openly,  such  as  reading  Shakespeare,  the  elder  novelists, 
and  translations  of  the  classics.  We  studied  French 
and  chemistry,  and  enabled  ourselves  to  read  Latin, 
storing  our  minds  with  a  whole  mass  of  heterogeneous 
knowledge.  This  was  good  as  far  as  it  went,  but  I 
now  deplore  the  secrecy,  the  subterfuge,  and  the  fear 
under  which  this  ill-digested,  ill-arranged  knowledge 
was  obtained.' 

The  young  Quakeresses  picked  up  ideas  and  models 
for   their    artistic    handicraft   from    the    most   unlikely 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITl^ 

sources.  A  shop- window,  full  of  dusty  plaster  medallions 
for  mantelpiece  decorations,  gave  them  their  first  notions 
of  classic  design.  The  black  Wedgwood  ware  was  to 
be  seen  in  nearly  every  house  in  Uttoxeter,  while  a  few 
of  the  more  prosperous  inhabitants  possessed  vases  and 
jugs  in  the  pale  blue  ware,  ornamented  with  graceful 
figures.  These  precious  specimens  the  Botham  sisters 
used  to  borrow,  and  contrived  to  reproduce  the  figures  by 
means  of  moulds  made  of  paper  pulp.  They  also  etched 
flowers  and  landscapes  on  panes  of  glass,  and  manu- 
factured '  transparencies  ^  out  of  different  thicknesses  of 
cap-paper.  '  I  feel  a  sort  of  tender  pity  for  Anna  and 
myself,'  wrote  Mary  long  afterwards,  *  when  I  remember 
how  we  were  always  seeking  and  struggling  after  the 
beautiful,  and  after  artistic  production,  though  we  knew 
nothing  of  art.  I  am  thankful  that  we  made  no 
alms-baskets,  or  hideous  abortions  of  that  kind.  What 
we  did  wfiis  from  the  innate  yearnings  of  our  souls  for 
perfection  in  form  and  colour;  and  our  accomplished 
work,  though  crude  and  poor,  was  the  genuine  outcome 
of  our  own  individuality.' 

It  was  one  of  the  heaviest  crosses  of  Mary's  girlish 
days  that  she  and  Anna  were  not  permitted  to  exercise 
their  clever  fingers,  and  indulge  their  taste  for  the 
beautiful,  in  their  own  dress.  But  they  found  a  faint 
vicarious  pleasure  in  making  pretty  summer  gowns,  and 
embroidering  elaborate  muslin  collars  for  a  girl-friend 
who  was  allowed  to  wear  fashionable  clothes,  and  even 
to  go  to  balls.  Even  their  ultra-plain  costumes,  how- 
ever, could  not  disguise  the  fact  that  Anna  and  Mary 
Botham  were  comely  damsels,  and  they  had  several 
suitors  among  the  young  men-Friends  of  Uttoxeter. 
But  the  sisters  held  a  low  opinion  of  the  mental  endow- 

333 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

ments  of  the  average  Quaker,  an  opinion  that  was  only 
shaken  by  a  report  of  the  marvellous  attainments  of 
young  William  Howitt  of  Heanor,  who  was  said  to  be 
not  only  a  scholar,  but  a  born  genius.  William's 
mother,  Phoebe,  herself  a  noted  amateur  healer,  was  an 
old  friend  of  Mary's  grandfather,  the  herbal  doctor,  but 
the  young  people  had  never  met.  However,  in  the  autumn 
of  1818,  William  paid  a  visit  to  some  relations  at 
Uttoxeter,  and  there  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Botham  girls,  who  discovered  that  this  young  man- 
Friend  shared  nearly  all  their  interests,  and  was  full  of 
sympathy  with  their  studies  and  pursuits. 

Before  the  end  of  the  year  Mary  Botham  was  engaged 
to  William  Howitt,  he  being  then  six-and-twenty  and 
she  nineteen.  '  The  tastes  of  my  future  husband  and 
my  own  were  strongly  similar,'  she  observes,  '  so  also  was 
our  mental  culture ;  but  he  was  in  every  direction  so 
far  in  advance  of  me  as  to  become  my  teacher  and 
guide.  Knowledge  in  the  broadest  sense  was  the  aim 
of  our  intellectual  efforts ;  poetry  and  nature  were  the 
paths  that  led  to  it.  Of  ballad  poetry  I  was  already 
enamoured.  William  made  me  acquainted  with  the 
realistic  life-pictures  of  Crabbe ;  the  bits  of  nature  and 
poetry  in  the  vignettes  of  Bewick;  with  the  earliest 
works  of  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and  Shelley,  and  the 
first  marvellous  prose  productions  of  the  author  of 
Waverley.'' 

After  an  engagement  lasting  a  little  more  than  two 
years,  William  and  Mary  were  married  on  April  16, 
1821,  the  bride  wearing  her  first  silk  gown — a  pretty 
dove-colour — and  a  white  silk  shawl,  finery  which  filled 
her  soul  with  rapture.  The  couple  spent  the  honey- 
moon  in   the   bridegroom's  native   Derbyshire,   visiting 


I 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

every  spot  of  beauty  or  haunt  of  old  tradition  in  that 
country  of  the  romantic  and  the  picturesque. 

Incorporated  in  his  wife''s  Aviobiography  is  William 
Howitt's  narrative  of  his  parentage  and  youthful  days, 
which  is  supplemented  by  his  Boys'  Country  Book,  the 
true  story  of  his  early  adventures  and  experiences.  The 
Howitts,  he  tells  us,  were  descended  from  a  family 
named  Hewitt,  the  younger  branch  of  which  obtained 
Wansley  Hall,  near  Nottingham,  through  marriage  with 
an  heiress,  and  changed  the  spelling  of  their  name. 
His  ancestors  had  been,  for  generations,  a  rollicking  set, 
all  wofully  lacking  in  prudence  and  sobriety.  About 
the  end  of  the  seventeenth  centur}',  one  Thomas 
Howitt,  great-great-grandfather  of  William,  married 
Catherine,  heiress  of  the  Charltons  of  Chilwell.  But 
Thomas  so  disgusted  his  father-in-law  by  his  drunken 
habits  that  Mr.  Charlton  disinherited  his  daughter,  who 
loyally  refused  to  leave  her  husband,  and  left  his  pro- 
perty to  a  stranger  who  chanced  to  bear  his  name. 
After  this  misfortune  the  Howitts  descended  somewhat 
in  the  social  scale,  and,  having  no  more  substance  to 
waste,  reformed  their  ways  and  forsook  all  riotous 
living.  William''s  father,  who  held  a  post  as  manager 
of  a  Derbyshire  colliery,  married  a  Quaker  lady,  Phoebe 
Tan  turn  of  the  Fall,  Heanor,  and  was  himself  received 
into  the  Society  of  Friends  in  178S. 

William  received  a  good  plain  education  at  a  Quaker 
school  at  Ackworth,  and  grew  up  a  genuine  country 
lad,  scouring  the  lanes  on  his  famous  grey  pony,  Peter 
Scroggins,  the  acknowledged  leader  of  the  village  lads 
in  bird-nesting  and  rat-hunting  expeditions,  and  taking 
his  full  share  of  the  work  on  his  father^s  little  farm. 
Long  afterwards  he  used  to  say  that  every  scene  in  and 

885 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

about  Heanor  was  photographed  with  absolute  distinct- 
ness on  his  brain,  and  he  loved  to  recall  the  long  days 
that  he  had  spent  in  following  the  plough,  chopping 
turnips  for  the  cattle,  tramping  over  the  snow-covered 
fields  after  red-wing  and  fieldfare,  collecting  acorns  for 
the  swine,  or  hunting  through  the  barns  for  eggs.  The 
Howitt  family  was  much  less  strict  than  that  of  the 
Bothams,  for  in  the  winter  evenings  the  boys  were 
allowed  to  play  draughts  and  dominoes,  while  at  Christ- 
mas there  were  games  of  forfeits,  blind-man's  buff,  and 
fishing  for  the  ring  in  the  great  posset-pot. 

On  leaving  school  at  fifteen,  William  amused  himself 
for  a  couple  of  years  on  the  farm,  though,  curiously 
enough,  he  never  thought  of  becoming  a  farmer  in  good 
earnest ;  indeed,  at  this  time  he  seems  to  have  had  no 
distinct  bias  towards  any  profession.  Mr.  Howitt  had 
somehow  become  imbued  with  Rousseau's  doctrine  that 
every  boy,  whatever  his  position  in  life,  should  learn  a 
mechanical  handicraft,  in  order  that,  if  all  else  failed, 
he  might  be  able  to  earn  his  own  living  by  the  labour 
of  his  hands.  Having  decided  that  William  should 
learn  carpentering,  the  boy  was  apprenticed  for  four 
years  to  a  carpenter  and  builder  at  Mansfield,  on  the 
outskirts  of  Sherwood  Forest.  The  four  precious  years 
were  practically  thrown  away,  except  for  the  enjoy- 
ment obtained  from  long  solitary  rambles  amid  the 
picturesque  associations  of  the  Forest,  and  the  knowledge 
of  natural  history  gained  from  close  observation  of  the 
wild  life  of  that  romantic  district. 

It    was    not    until    his    twenty-first    birthday    that 

William's   indentures   were   out,   and    as    he    was   still 

unable  to   make  up  his  mind   about  a  profession — it 

must  be  remembered  that  the  law,  the  church,  the  army 

336 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWIIT 

and  navy  were  all  closed  to  a  Quaker — he  spent  the  next 
seven  years  at  home,  angling  in  the  streams  like  his 
favourite  hero,  Isaac  Walton,  and  striving,  by  dint  of 
hard  study,  to  make  up  the  many  deficiencies  in  his 
education.  He  taught  himself  Latin,  French,  and 
Italian,  besides  working  at  botany,  chemistry,  and  the 
dispensing  of  medicines.  It  was  during  these  seven 
years  of  uncertainty  and  experiment  that  William  read 
Washington  Irving's  Sketches  of  Geoffrey  Crayon^  which 
produced  a  strong  impression  on  his  mind.  With  the 
inspiration  of  this  book  hot  upon  him,  he  made  a  tour 
on  foot  through  the  Peak  country,  and  afterwards  wrote 
an  account  of  his  adventures  in  what  he  fondly  believed 
to  be  the  style  of  Geoffrey  Crayon.  The  paper  was 
printed  in  a  local  journal  under  the  title  of  A  Pedestrian 
Pilgrimage  through  the  Peak,  by  Wilfrid  Wendle.  This 
was  not  William  Howitfs  first  literary  essay,  some 
stanzas  of  his  on  Spring,  written  when  he  was  only 
thirteen,  having  been  printed  in  the  Monthly  Magazine^ 
with  his  name  and  age  attached. 

With  the  prospect  of  marriage  it  was  thought  desir- 
able that  William  should  have  some  regular  calling. 
Without,  so  far  as  appears,  passing  any  examinations  or 
obtaining  any  certificates,  he  bought  the  business  of  a 
chemist  and  druggist  in  Hanley,  and  thither,  though 
with  no  intention  of  settling  permanently  in  the  Pot- 
teries, he  took  his  bride  as  soon  as  the  honeymoon  was 
over.  Only  seven  months  were  spent  at  Hanley,  and  in 
December,  1821,  the  couple  were  preparing  to  move  to 
Nottingham,  where  William  had  bought  the  good-will 
of  another  chemist's  busincsN.  But  before  settling  down 
in  their  new  home,  the  Howitts  undertook  a  long 
pedestrian  tour  through  Scotland  and  the  north  of 
Y  837 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

England,  in  the  course  of  which  they  explored  the  Rob 
Roy  country,  rambled  through  Fife,  made  acquaintance 
with  the  beauties  of  Edinburgh,  looked  in  upon  Robert 
Owen's  model  factories  at  New  Lanark,  got  a  glimpse  of 
Walter  Scott  at  Melrose,  were  mistaken  for  a  runaway 
couple  at  Gretna  Green,  gazed  reverently  on  Rydal 
Mount,  and  tramped  in  all  no  less  than  five  hundred 
miles.  An  account  of  the  tour  was  contributed  to  a 
Staffordshire  paper  under  the  title  of  A  Scottish  Ramble 
in  the  Spring  of  1^9.%  by  Wilfrid  and  Wilfreda  Wendle. 
It  was  not  until  August,  1822,  that  the  pair  estab- 
lished themselves  in  a  little  house  at  Nottingham.  Of 
the  chemist's  business  we  hear  practically  nothing  in 
Mary''s  narrative,  but  a  great  deal  about  the  literary 
enterprises  in  which  husband  and  wife  collaborated. 
They  began  by  collecting  the  poems,  of  which  each  had 
a  large  number  ready  written,  and,  in  fear  and  trembling, 
prepared  to  submit  them  to  the  verdict  of  critics  and 
public.  '  It  seems  strange  to  me,'  wrote  Mary,  when 
she  informed  her  sister  of  this  modest  venture,  'and  I 
cannot  reconcile  myself  to  the  thought  of  seeing  my 
own  name  staring  me  in  the  face  in  every  bookseller's 
window,  or  being  pointed  at  and  peeped  after  as  a  writer 
of  verses.'  In  April,  1823,  The  Forest  Minstrel  and 
other  Poems,  by  William  and  Mary  Howitt,  made  its 
appearance  in  a  not  particularly  appreciative  world. 
The  verses  were  chiefly  descriptive  of  country  sights  and 
sounds,  and  had  been  produced,  as  stated  in  the  Preface, 
'  not  for  the  sake  of  writing,  but  for  the  indulgence  of 
our  own  overflowing  feelings.'  The  little  book  created 
no  sensation,  but  it  was  kindly  noticed,  and  seems  to 
have  attracted  a  few  quiet  readers  who,  like  the  writers, 
were  lovers  of  nature  and  simplicity. 
338 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

During  these  early  years  at  Nottingham  the  Howitts 
kept  up,  as  far  as  their  opportunities  allowed,  with  the 
thought  and  literature  of  their  day,  and  never  relaxed 
their  anxious  efforts  after  '  mental  improvement/ 
William ""s  brother,  Richard,  himself  a  budding  poet, 
was  at  this  time  an  inmate  of  the  little  household, 
which  was  increased  in  1824  by  the  birth  of  a  daughter, 
Anna  Mary.  Although  the  couple  still  remained  in  the 
Quaker  fold,  they  were  gradually  discarding  the  peculiar 
dress  and  speech  of  the  *  plain '  Friends.  They  were 
evidently  regarded  as  ten*ibly  *  advanced  **  young  people 
in  their  own  circle,  and  shocked  many  of  their  old 
acquaintances  by  the  catholicity  of  their  views,  by  their 
admiration  of  Byron  and  Shelley,  and  by  the  liberal 
tone  of  their  own  productions.  IJke  most  of  the  lesser 
writers  of  that  day,  they  found  their  way  into  the 
popular  Keepsakes  and  Annuals,  which  Mary  accurately 
describes  as  *  a  chaffy,  frivolous,  and  unsatisfactory  style 
of  publication,  that  only  serves  to  keep  a  young  author 
in  the  mind  of  the  public,  and  to  bring  in  a  little  cash.' 
In  1826  Mrs.  Howitt  was  preparing  for  the  press  a  new 
volume  of  poems  by  herself  and  her  husband.  The 
Desolation  of  Eyam^  and  in  a  letter  to  her  sister,  now 
transformed  into  Mrs.  Daniel  Wilson,  she  describes  her 
sensations  while  awaiting  the  ordeal  of  critical  judg- 
ment, and  expresses  her  not  very  flattering  opinion  of 
the  contemporary  reviewer. 

*  Nobody  that  has  not  published,"  she  observes,  *  can 
tell  the  almost  painful  excitement  which  the  first 
opinions  occasion.  Really,  for  some  days  I  was  quite 
ncr\'0U8.  William  boasted  of  possessing  his  mind  in 
wise  passivity,  and  truly  his  imperturbable  patience  was 
quite  an  annoyance;  I  therefore  got  Rogers's  beautiful 

339 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

poem  on  Italy  to  read,  and  so  diverted  my  thoughts. 
Everything  in  the  literary  world  is  done  by  favour  and 
connections.  It  is  a  miracle  to  me  how  our  former 
volume,  when  we  were  quite  unknown,  got  favourably 
noticed.  In  many  cases  a  book  is  reviewed  which  has 
never  been  read,  or  even  seen  externally.'* 

By  this  time  the  young  authors  who,  to  use  Mary''s  own 
phrase,  hungered  and  thirsted  after  acquaintances  who 
were  highly  gifted  in  mind  or  profound  in  knowledge,  had 
acquired  one  or  two  literary  friends  and  correspondents, 
among  them  Mrs.  Hemans,  Bernard  Barton,  the  Quaker 
poet,  and  the  Alaric  Watts's  of  Keepsake  fame.  An 
occasional  notice  of  the  Howitts  and  their  little  house- 
hold may  be  found  in  contemporary  works  by  forgotten 
writers.  For  example.  Sir  Richard  Phillips,  in  the 
section  devoted  to  Nottingham  of  his  quaintly-worded 
Personal  Tour  through  the  United  Kingdom  (1828), 
observes  :  '  Of  Messrs.  Howitt,  husband  and  wife,  con- 
jugal in  love  and  poetry,  it  would  be  vain  for  me  to 
speak.  Their  tasteful  productions  belong  to  the  nation 
as  well  as  to  Nottingham.  As  a  man  of  taste  Mr. 
Howitt  married  a  lady  of  taste ;  and  with  rare  amiability 
they  have  jointly  cultivated  the  Muses,  and  produced 
some  volumes  of  poetry,  consisting  of  pieces  under  their 
separate  names.  The  circumstance  afforded  a  topic  for 
ridicule  to  some  of  those  anonymous  critics  who  abuse 
the  press  and  disgrace  literature ;  but  no  one  ventured 
to  assail  their  productions.'  Spencer  Hall,  a  fellow- 
townsman,  became  acquainted  with  the  Howitts  in 
1829,  and  in  his  Reminiscences  describes  William  as 
a  bright,  neat,  quick,  dapper  man  of  medium  height, 
with  a  light  complexion,  blue  eyes,  and  brisk,  cheery 
speech.  Mary,  he  tells  us,  was  always  neatly  dressed, 
340 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWIIT 

but  with  nothing  prim  or  sectarian  in  her  style.  *  Her 
expression  was  frank  and  free,  yet  very  modest,  and  she 
was  blessed  with  an  affectionate,  sociable  spirit.** 

A  presentation  copy  of  The  Desolation  of  Eyam  was 
sent  to  the  Howitts**  favourite  poet,  Wordsworth,  who, 
in  acknowledging  their  *  elegant  volume,'  declared  that, 
though  he  had  only  had  time  to  turn  over  the  leaves,  he 
had  found  several  poems  which  had  already  afforded  him 
no  small  gratification.  The  harmless  little  book  was 
denounced  by  the  Eclectic  Review  as  <  anti-Quakerish, 
atheistical,  and  licentious  in  style  and  sentiment,*  but 
the  authors  were  consoled  by  a  charming  little  notice 
of  their  contributions  to  the  Annuals  in  the  Noctes 
Ambrosiarur  for  November,  1828.  'Who  are  these 
three  brothers  and  sisters,  the  Howitts,  sir?**  asks  the 
Shepherd  of  Christopher  North,  in  the  course  of  a 
discussion  of  the  Christmas  gift-books,  *•  whose  names  I 
see  in  the  adverteesements  ?  ** 

North.  I  don't  know,  James.  It  runs  in  my  head  that 
they  are  Quakers.  Richard  and  William  seem  amiable 
and  ingenious  men,  and  Sister  Mary  writes  beautifully. 

SliepJierd.  What  do  you  mean  by  beautifully  ?  That  '• 
vague. 

North.  Her  language  is  chaste  and  simple,  her  feel- 
ings tender  and  pure,  and  her  obsen-ation  of  nature 
accurate  and  intense.  Her  'Sketches  from  Natural 
History '  in  the  Christmas  Box  have  much  of  the  moral 
— nay,  rather  the  religious  spirit — that  permeates  all 
Wordsworth's  smaller  poems,  however  light  and  slight 
the  subject,  and  show  that  Mary  Howitt  is  not  only 
well-read  in  the  book  of  Bewick,  but  also  in  the  book 
from  which  Bewick  has  borrowed  all — glorious  plagiarist 

— and  every  other  inspired  zoologist 

841 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

Shepherd,  The  Book  o'  Natur\' 

The  great  event  of  1829  for  the  Howitts  was  a  visit 
to  London,  where  they  were  the  guests  of  Alaric  and 
Zillah  Watts,  with  whom  they  had  long  maintained  a 
paper  friendship.  '  What  wilt  thou  say,  dear  Anna,' 
writes  Mary  in  December,  '  when  I  tell  thee  that  William 
and  I  set  out  for  London  the  day  after  to-morrow.  I 
half  dread  it.  I  shall  wish  twenty  times  for  our  quiet 
fireside,  where  day  by  day  we  read  and  talk  by  ourselves, 
and  nobody  looks  in  upon  us.  I  keep  reasoning  with 
myself  that  the  people  we  shall  see  in  London  are  but 
men  and  women,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  no  better  than 
ourselves.  If  we  could  but  divest  our  minds  of  self^  as 
our  dear  father  used  to  say  we  should  do,  it  would  be 
better  and  more  comfortable  for  us.  Yet  it  is  one  of 
the  faults  peculiar  to  us  Bothams  that,  with  all  the 
desire  there  was  to  make  us  regardless  of  self,  we  never 
had  confidence  and  proper  self-respect  instilled  into  us, 
and  the  want  of  this  gives  us  a  depressing  feeling, 
though  I  hope  it  is  less  seen  by  others  than  by  our- 
selves. .  .  .  We  do  not  intend  to  stay  more  than  a 
week,  and  thou  may  believe  we  shall  have  enough  to  do. 
We  have  to  make  special  calls  on  the  Carter  Halls,  Dr. 
Bowring,  and  the  Pringles,  and  are  to  be  introduced  to 
their  ramifications  of  acquaintance.  Allan  Cunning- 
ham, L.  E.  L.,  and  Thomas  Roscoe  we  are  sure  to  see."* 

In  Miss  Landon's  now  forgotten  novel,  Romance  and 
Reality,  there  is  a  little  sketch  of  Mary  Howitt  as  she 
appeared  at  a  literary  soiree,  during  her  brief  visit  to 
London.  The  heroine.  Miss  Arundel,  is  being  initiated 
into  the  mysteries  of  the  writing  world  by  her  friend, 
Mrs.  Sullivan,  when  her  attention  is,  arrested  by  the 
sight  of  '  a  female  in  a  Quaker's  dress — the  quiet,  dark 
842 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

silk  dress — the  hair  simply  parted  on  the  forehead — 
the  small,  close  cap — the  placid,  subdued  expression  of 
the  face,  were  all  in  strong  contrast  to  the  crimsons, 
yellows,  and  blues  around.  The  general  character  of 
the  large,  soft  eyes  seemed  sweetness ;  but  they  were 
now  lighted  up  with  an  expression  of  intelligent  obser- 
vation— that  clear,  animated,  and  comprehensive  glance 
which  shows  it  analyses  what  it  observes.  You  looked 
at  her  with  something  of  the  sensation  with  which, 
while  travelling  along  a  dusty  road,  the  eye  fixes  on 
some  green  field,  where  the  hour  fiings  its  sunshine  and 
the  tree  its  shadow,  as  if  its  pure  fresh  beauty  was  a 
thing  apart  from  the  soil  and  tumult  of  the  highway. 
"  You  see,"^  said  Mrs.  Sullivan,  "  one  who,  in  a  brief 
interview,  gave  me  more  the  idea  of  a  poet  than  most  of 
our  modern  votaries  of  the  lute.  .  .  .  She  is  as  creative 
in  her  imaginary  poems  as  she  is  touching  and  true  in 
her  simpler  ones.'^ ' 

Though  there  were  still  giants  upon  the  earth  in 
those  far-off  days,  the  general  standard  of  literary  taste 
was  by  no  means  exalted,  a  fact  which  Mary  Howitt 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  realise.  She  seems  to  have 
taken  the  praises  lavished  on  her  simple  verses  over- 
seriously,  and  to  have  imagined  herself  in  very  truth  a 
poet.  She  was  more  clear-sighted  where  the  work  of 
her  fellow-scribes  was  concerned,  and  in  a  letter  written 
about  this  time,  she  descants  upon  the  dearth  of  good 
literature  in  a  somewhat  disillusioned  vein.  After  ex- 
pressing her  desire  that  some  mighty  spirit  would  ritt 
up  and  give  an  impulse  to  poetry,  she  continues  :  *  I  am 
tired  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  his  imitators,  and  I  am 
sickened  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  luscious  poetry,  and  all  her 
tribe  of  copyists.     The  libraries  set  in  array  one  school 

'  343 


AVILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

against  another,  and  hurry  out  the  trashy  volumes  before 
the  ink  of  the  manuscript  is  fairly  dry.  Dost  thou 
remember  the  days  when  Byron's  poems  first  came  out, 
now  one  and  then  another,  at  sufficient  intervals  to 
allow  of  digesting  them?  And  dost  thou  remember 
our  first  reading  of  Lalla  RooJch  ?  It  was  on  a  washing- 
day.  We  read  and  clapped  our  clear-starching,  read 
and  clapped,  and  read  again,  and  all  the  time  our  souls 
were  not  on  this  earth."* 

There  was  one  book  then  in  course  of  preparation 
which  Mary  thought  worthy  to  have  been  read,  even  in 
those  literary  clear-starching  days.  '  Thou  hast  no 
idea,'  she  assures  her  sister,  'how  very  interesting 
William's  work,  now  called  A  Boole  of  the  Seasons,  has 
become.  It  contains  original  sketches  on  every  month, 
with  every  characteristic  of  the  season,  and  a  garden 
department  which  will  fill  thy  heart  brimful  of  all 
garden  delights,  greenness,  and  boweriness.  Mountain 
scenery  and  lake  scenery,  meadows  and  woods,  hamlets, 
farms,  halls,  storm  and  sunshine — all  are  in  this  most 
delicious  book,  grouped  into  a  most  harmonious  whole.' 
Unfortunately,  publishers  were  hard  to  convince  of  the 
merits  of  the  new  work,  the  first  of  William  Howitt's 
rural  series,  and  it  was  declined  by  four  houses  in  turn. 
The  author  at  last  suggested  that  a  stone  should  be 
tied  to  the  unlucky  manuscript,  and  that  it  should 
be  flung  over  London  Bridge ;  but  his  wife  was  not  so 
easily  disheartened.  She  was  certain  that  the  book  was 
a  worthy  book,  and  only  needed  to  be  made  a  little 
more  '  personable '  to  find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  a 
publisher.  Accordingly,  blotted  sheets  were  hastily  re- 
copied,  new  articles  introduced,  and  passages  of  dubious 
interest  omitted,  husband  and  wife  working  together  at 
344 


AVILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

this  remodelling  until  their  fingers  ached  and  their  eyes 
were  as  dim  as  an  owl's  in  sunshine.  Their  labours 
were  rewarded  by  the  acceptance  of  the  work  by  Bentley 
and  Colbum,  and  its  triumphant  success  with  both 
critics  and  public,  seven  editions  being  called  for  in  the 
first  few  months  of  its  career. 

*  Prig  it  and  pocket  it,"*  says  Christopher  North, 
alluding  to  the  Book  oj  the  Seasons  in  the  Noctes  for 
April,  1831.     'Tis  a  jewel.' 

'  Is  Nottingham  far  intil  England,  sir  ?  asks  the 
simple  Shepherd,  to  whom  the  above  advice  is  given. 
'  For  I  would  really  like  to  pay  the  Hooits  a  visit  this 
simmer.  Thae  Quakers  are  what  we  micht  scarcely 
opine  frae  first  principles,  a  maist  poetical  Christian 
seek.  .  .  .  The  twa  married  Hooits  I  love  just  exces- 
sively, sir.  What  they  write  canna  fail  o'  being  poetry, 
even  the  most  middlin'  o\  for  it's  aye  wi'  them  the 
ebullition  o'  their  ain  feeling  and  their  ain  fancy,  and 
whenever  that 's  the  case,  a  bonny  word  or  twa  will  drap 
itself  intil  ilka  stanzy,  and  a  sweet  stanzy  or  twa  intil 
ilka  pome,  and  sae  they  touch,  and  sae  they  win  a 
body's  heart.' 

The  year  1831  was  rendered  memorable  to  the 
Howitts,  not  only  by  their  first  literary  success,  but 
also  by  an  unexpected  visit  from  their  poetical  idol,  Mr. 
Wordsworth.  The  poet,  his  wife  and  daughter,  were 
on  their  way  home  from  London  when  Mrs.  Words- 
worth was  suddenly  taken  ill,  and  was  unable  to  proceed 
farther  than  Nottingham.  Her  husband,  in  great  per- 
plexity, came  to  ask  advice  of  the  Howitts,  who  insisted 
that  the  invalid  should  be  removed  to  their  house,  where 
she  remained  for  ten  days  before  she  was  able  to  continue 
her  journey.     Wordsworth  himself  was  only  able  to  stay 

346 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

one  night,  but  in  that  short  time  he  made  a  very  favour- 
able impression  npon  his  host  and  hostess.  '  He  is 
worthy  of  being  the  author  of  The  Excursion,  Ruth,  and 
those  sweet  poems  so  full  of  human  sympathy,'  writes 
Mary.  '  He  is  a  kind  man,  full  of  strong  feeling  and 
sound  judgment.  My  greatest  delight  was  that  he 
seemed  so  pleased  with  William's  conversation.  They 
seemed  quite  in  their  element,  pouring  out  their  eloquent 
sentiments  on  the  future  prospects  of  society,  and  on  all 
subjects  connected  with  poetry  and  the  interests  of  man. 
Nor  are  we  less  pleased  with  Mrs.  Wordsworth  and  her 
lovely  daughter,  Dora.  They  are  the  most  grateful 
people ;  everything  that  we  do  for  them  is  right,  and 
the  very  best  it  can  be.' 

During  the  next  two  or  three  years  Mary  produced 
a  volume  of  dramatic  sketches,  called  The  Seven  Tempta- 
tions,  which  she  always  regarded  as  her  best  and  most 
original  work,  but  which  was  damned  by  the  critics  and 
neglected  by  the  public  ;  a  little  book  of  natural  history 
for  children ;  and  a  novel  in  three  volumes,  called  Wood 
Leighton,  which  seems  to  have  had  some  success.  The 
Seven  Temptations,  it  must  be  owned,  is  a  rather 
lugubrious  production,  probably  inspired  by  Joanna 
Baillie's  Plays  on  the  Passions.  The  scene  of  Wood 
Leighton  is  laid  at  Uttoxeter,  and  the  book  is  not  so 
much  a  connected  tale  as  a  series  of  sketches  descriptive 
of  scenes  and  characters  in  and  about  the  author's  early 
home.  It  is  evident  that  Mrs.  Botham  and  Sister 
Anna  looked  somewhat  disapprovingly  upon  so  much 
literary  work  for  the  mistress  of  a  household,  since 
we  find  Mary  writing  in  eager  defence  of  her  chosen 
calling. 

'I  want  to  make  thee,  and  more  particularly  dear 
346 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

mother,  see,'  she  explains,  *  that  I  am  not  out  of  my  line 
of  duty  in  devoting  myself  so  much  to  literary  occupa- 
tion. Just  lately  things  were  sadly  against  us.  Dear 
William  could  not  sleep  at  night,  and  the  days  were 
dark  and  gloomy.  Altogether,  I  was  at  my  wits'  end. 
I  turned  over  in  my  mind  what  I  could  do  next,  for  till 
William's  Rural  Life  was  finished  we  had  nothing  avail- 
able. Then  I  bethought  myself  of  all  those  little  verses 
and  prose  tales  that  for  years  I  had  written  for  the 
juvenile  Annuals.  It  seemed  probable  I  might  turn 
them  to  some  account.  In  about  a  week  I  had  nearly 
all  the  poetry  copied  ;  and  then  who  should  come  to 
Nottingham  but  John  Darton  [a  Quaker  publisher]. 
He  fell  into  the  idea  innnediately,  took  what  I  had 
copied  up  to  London  with  him,  and  I  am  to  have  a 
hundred  and  fifty  guineas  for  them.  Have  I  not 
reason  to  feel  that  in  thus  writing  I  was  fulfilling  a 
duty?' 

In  1833  William  Howitt's  H'lstoi-y  of  Prieiftcrqfl 
appeared,  a  work  which  was  publicly  denounced  at  the 
Friends'  yearly  meeting,  all  good  Quakers  being  cautioned 
not  to  read  it.  William  hitherto  had  lived  in  great 
retirement  at  Nottingham,  but  he  was  now  claimed  by 
the  Radical  and  Nonconformist  members  of  the  com- 
munity as  their  spokesman  and  champion.  In  Januar}', 
1834,  he  and  Joseph  Gilbert  (husband  of  Ann  Gilbert 
of  Original  Poems  fame)  were  deputed  to  present  to 
the  Prime  Minister,  Lord  Grey,  a  petition  from  Notting- 
ham for  the  disestablishment  of  the  Church  of  England. 
The  Premier  regretted  that  he  could  not  give  hii 
support  to  such  a  sweeping  measure,  which  would  em- 
barrass the  Ministry,  alarm  both  Houses  of  Parliament, 
and  startle  the  nation.     He  declared  his  intention  of 

847 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

standing  by  the  Church  to  the  best  of  his  ability, 
believing  it  to  be  the  sacred  duty  of  Government  to 
maintain  an  establishment  of  religion.  To  which 
sturdy  William  Howitt  replied  that  to  establish  one 
sect  in  preference  to  another  was  to  establish  a  party 
and  not  a  religion. 

Civic  duties,  together  with  the  excitements  of  local 
politics,  proved  a  sad  hindrance  to  literary  work,  and 
in  1836  the  Howitts,  who  had  long  been  yearning  for 
a  wider  intellectual  sphere,  decided  to  give  up  the 
chemist's  business,  and  settle  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
London.  Their  friends,  the  Alaric  Watts's,  who  were 
living  at  Thames  Ditton,  found  them  a  pretty  little 
house  at  Esher,  where  they  would  be  able  to  enjoy  the 
woods  and  heaths  of  rural  Surrey,  and  yet  be  within 
easy  reach  of  publishers  and  editors  in  town.  Before 
settling  down  in  their  new  home,  the  Howitts  made 
a  three  months"'  tour  in  the  north,  with  a  view  to  gather- 
ing materials  for  William's  book  on  Rural  England. 
They  explored  the  Yorkshire  dales,  stayed  with  the 
Wordsworths  at  Rydal,  and  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
haunts  of  their  favourite,  Thomas  Bewick,  in  Northumber- 
land. Crossing  the  Border  they  paid  a  delightful  visit 
to  Edinburgh,  where  they  were  made  much  of  by  the 
three  literary  cliques  of  the  city,  the  Blackwood  and 
Wilson  set,  the  Tait  set,  and  the  Chambers  set. 

*  Immediately  after  our  arrival,'  relates  Mary,  *  a  public 
dinner  was  given  to  Campbell  the  poet,  at  which  the 
committee  requested  my  husband's  attendance,  and  that 
he  would  take  a  share  in  the  proceedings  of  the  evening 
by  proposing  as  a  toast,  "  Wordsworth,  Southey,  and 
Moore."  This  was  our  first  introduction  to  Professor 
Wilson  (Christopher  North)  and  his  family.  I  sat  in 
348 


I 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWIIT 

the  gallery  with  Mrs.  Wilson  and  her  daughters,  one 
of  whom  was  engaged  to  Professor  Ferrier.  We  could 
not  but  remark  the  wonderful  difference,  not  only  in  the 
outer  man,  but  in  the  whole  character  of  mind  and 
manner,  between  Professor  Wilson  and  Campbell — the 
one  so  hearty,  outspoken,  and  joyous,  the  other  so  petty 
and  trivial/ 

Robert  Chambers  constituted  himself  the  Howitts"* 
cicerone  in  Edinburgh,  showing  them  every  place  of 
interest,  and  presenting  them  to  every  person  of  note, 
including  Mrs.  Maclehose  (the  Clarinda  of  Bums),  and 
William  Miller,  the  Quaker  artist  and  engraver,  as 
intense  a  nature-worshipper  as  themselves.  From  Edin- 
burgh they  went  to  Glasgow,  where  they  took  ship  for 
the  Western  Isles.  Their  adventures  at  StafTa  and 
lona,  their  voyage  up  the  Caledonian  Canal,  and  the 
remainder  of  their  experiences  on  this  tour,  were  after- 
wards described  by  William  Howitt  in  his  Visits  to 
Remarkable  Places. 


PART   II 

In  September,  1836,  the  Howitts  took  possession  of 
their  Surrey  home,  West  End  Cottage,  an  old-fashioned 
dwelling,  with  a  large  garden,  an  orchard,  a  meadow  by 
the  river  Mole,  and  the  right  of  boating  and  fishing  to 
the  extent  of  seven  miles.  The  new  life  opened  with 
good  prospects  of  literary  and  journalistic  employment, 
William  Howitt's  political  writings  having  already 
attracted  attention  from  several  persons  of  power  and 
influence  in  the  newspaper  world.  On  December  3  of 
this  year,  Mary  wrote  to  inform  her  sister  that,  *In 

349 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

consequence  of  an  article  that  William  wrote  on 
Dymond's  Christian  Morality^  Joseph  Hume,  the 
member  for  Middlesex,  wrote  to  him,  and  has  opened 
a  most  promising  connection  for  him  with  a  new 
Radical  newspaper.  The  Constitutional.  O'Connell 
seems  determined  to  make  him  the  editor  of  the  Dublin 
Review^  and  wrote  him  a  most  kind  letter,  which  has 
naturally  promoted  his  interest  with  the  party.  I 
cannot  but  see  the  hand  of  Providence  in  our  leaving 
Nottingham.      All  has  turned  out  admirably.' 

Unfortunately  for  these  sanguine  anticipations,  the 
newspaper  connections  on  which  the  Howitts  depended 
for  a  livelihood,  now  that  the  despised  chemist's  busi- 
ness had  been  given  up,  proved  but  hollow  supports. 
O'Connell  had  overlooked  the  trifling  fact  that  a  Quaker 
editor  was  hardly  fitted  to  conduct  a  journal  that  was 
emphatically  and  polemically  Catholic  ;  and  though  he 
considered  that  William  Howitt  was  admirably  adapted 
to  deal  with  literary  and  political  topics,  he  was  obliged 
to  withdraw  his  offer  of  the  editorship.  A  more  crush- 
ing disappointment  arose  out  of  the  engagement  on 
The  Constitutional.  Mr.  Howitt,  according  to  his  wife, 
did  more  for  the  paper  than  any  other  member  of  the 
staff.  '  He  worked  and  wrote  like  any  slave,'  she  tells 
her  sister.  'In  the  end,  after  a  series  of  the  most 
harassing  and  vexatious  conduct  on  the  part  of  the 
newspaper  company,  he  was  swindled  out  of  every 
farthing.  Oh,  it  was  a  most  mortifying  and  humiliating 
thing  to  see  men  professing  liberal  and  honest  principles 
act  so  badly.  A  month  ago,  when  in  the  very  depths 
of  discouragement  and  low  spirits,  I  set  about  a  little 
volume  for  Darton,  to  be  called  Birds  and  Flowers^  and 
have  pretty  nearly  finished  it.  William,  in  the  mean- 
350 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

time,  has  finished  his  Rural  Lifcy  and  sold  the  first 
edition  to  Longman's/ 

The  manager  of  the  unlucky  paper  was  Major 
Carmichael  Smith,  who,  when  matters  grew  desperate, 
sent  for  his  step-son,  Thackeray,  then  acting  as  Paris 
correspondent  for  a  London  daily.  *  Just  as  I  was  going 
out  of  the  office  one  day,"  writes  William,  *  I  met  on  the 
stairs  a  tall,  thin  young  man,  in  a  dark  blue  coat,  and 
with  a  nose  that  seemed  to  have  had  a  blow  that  had 
flattened  the  bridge.  I  turned  back,  and  had  some  con- 
versation with  him,  being  anxious  to  know  how  he 
proposed  to  carry  on  a  paper  which  was  without  any 
funds,  and  already  deeply  in  debt.  He  did  not  seem  to 
know  any  more  than  I  did.  I  thought  to  myself  that 
his  step-father  had  not  done  him  much  service  in  taking 
him  from  a  profitable  post  for  the  vain  business  of 
endeavouring  to  buoy  up  a  desperate  speculation.  How 
much  longer  TTie  Constitutional  struggled  on,  I  know 
not.  That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of 
William  Makepeace  Thackeray ."* 

The  Howitts  were  somewhat  consoled  for  their  jour- 
nalistic losses  by  the  triumphant  success  of  Jittral  Lift  m 
England.  The  reading  public  which,  during  the  previous 
century,  had  swallowed  mock  pastorals,  made  in  Fleet 
Street,  with  perfect  serenity,  was  now,  thanks  to  the 
slowly-working  influence  of  Wordsworth  and  the  other 
Lake  poets,  prepared  for  a  renaissance  of  nature  and 
simplicity  in  prose.  Miss  Mitford's  exquisite  work  had 
given  them  a  distaste  for  the  ♦jewelled  turf,'  the  •silver 
streams,"'  and  ♦  smiling  valleys^  which  constituted  the 
rustic  stock-in-trade  of  the  average  novelist ;  and  they 
eagerly  welcomed  a  book  that  treated  with  accuracy 
and  observation  of  the  real  country.     William  Howitt^s 

351 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

straightforward,  undistinguished  style  was  acceptable 
enough  in  an  age  when  even  men  of  genius  seem  to  have 
written  fine  prose  without  knowing  it,  and  tripped  up 
not  infrequently  over  the  subtleties  of  English  grammar. 
His  lack  of  imagination  and  humour  was  more  than 
atoned  for,  in  the  uncritical  eyes  of  the  *  thirties,'  by 
the  easy  loquacity  of  his  rural  gossip,  and  the  varied 
information  with  which  he  crammed  his  pages.  The 
Nature  of  those  days  was  a  simple,  transparent  creature, 
with  but  small  resemblance  to  the  lady  of  moods, 
mystery,  and  passion  who  is  so  overworked  in  our  modern 
literature.  No  one  dreamt  of  going  into  hysterics  over 
the  veining  of  a  leaf,  or  penning  a  rhapsody  on  the  outline 
of  a  rain-cloud  ;  nor  could  it  yet  be  said  that,  '  if  every- 
body must  needs  blab  of  the  favours  that  have  been  done 
him  by  roadside,  and  river-brink,  and  woodland  walk,  as 
if  to  kiss  and  tell  were  no  longer  treachery,  it  will  soon 
be  a  positive  refreshment  to  meet  a  man  who  is  as 
superbly  indifferent  to  Nature  as  she  is  to  him."*^ 

The  Howitts  took  great  delight  in  the  pleasant 
Surrey  country,  so  different  from  the  dreary  scenery 
around  Nottingham,  and  Mary's  letters  contain  many 
descriptions  of  the  woods  and  commons  and  shady  lanes 
through  which  the  family  made  long  expeditions  in  a 
little  carriage  drawn  by  Peg,  their  venerable  pony. 
Driving  one  day  to  Hook,  they  met  Charles  Dickens, 
then  best  known  as  *  Boz,'  in  one  of  his  long  tramps, 
with  Harrison  Ainsworth  as  his  companion.  When 
Dickens^s  next  work.  Master  Humphrey's  Clock,  appeared, 
the  Howitts  were  amused  to  see  that  their  stout  and 
wilful  Peg  had  not  escaped  the  novelist's  keen  eye,  but 
had  been  pressed  into  service  for  Mr.  Garland's  chaise. 
1  Lowell. 

352 


WILLIAM   AND   MARY  HOWIIT* 

On  another  occasion,  in  July  1 841,  William,  while 
driving  with  a  friend,  was  attacked  by  two  handsome, 
dark-eyed  girls,  dressed  in  gipsy  costume,  who  ran  one 
on  each  side  of  the  carriage,  begging  that  the  kind 
gentleman  would  give  them  sixpence,  as  they  were  poor 
strangers  who  had  taken  nothing  all  day.  Mr.  Howitt, 
who  had  made  a  special  study  of  the  gipsy  tribe,  per- 
ceived in  an  instant  that  these  were  only  sham  Romanys. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  their  pleading,  but  obser\'ed 
that  he  hoped  they  would  enjoy  their  frolic,  and  only 
wished  that  he  were  as  rich  as  they.  Subsequently,  he 
discovered  that  the  mock-gipsies,  who  had  been  unable 
to  coax  a  sixpence  out  of  him,  were  none  other  than  the 
beautiful  Sheridan  sisters,  the  Duchess  of  Somerset,  and 
Mrs.  Blackwood  (afterwards  Lady  Dufferin),  whose 
husband  had  lately  taken  Bookham  I^ge. 

During  the  four  years  spent  at  Esher,  Mary  seems  to 
have  been  too  much  occupied  with  the  cares  of  a  young 
family  to  use  her  pen  to  much  purpose.  She  produced 
little,  except  a  volume  of  Hymm  and  Fireside  Verses^ 
but  she  frequently  assisted  her  husband  in  his  work. 
William,  industrious  as  ever,  published,  besides  a  large 
number  of  newspaper  articles,  his  Boies'  Country  Book^ 
the  best  work  of  the  kind  ever  written,  according  to  the 
Quarterly  Review ;  and  his  History  qf  Colonisation  and 
Christianity^  in  which  he  took  a  rapid  survey  of  the 
behariour  of  the  Christian  nations  of  £urope  to  the 
inhabitants  of  the  countries  they  conquered  in  all  parts 
of  the  world.  It  was  the  reading  of  this  book  that  led 
Mr.  Joseph  Pe&se  to  establish  the  British  India  Society* 
which  issued,  in  a  separate  form,  the  portion  of  the  work 
that  related  to  India.  Mr.  Howitt  next  set  to  work 
upon  another  topographical  volume,  his  Visits  to  Remark* 
%  308 


WILLIAM   AND   MARY    HOWITT 

able  Places,  in  which  he  turned  to  good  account  the 
materials  collected  in  his  pedestrian  rambles  about  the 
country. 

In  1840  the  question  of  education  for  the  elder 
children  became  urgent,  and  the  Howitts,  who  had 
heard  much  of  the  advantages  of  a  residence  in  Germany 
from  their  friends,  Mrs.  Hemans,  Mrs.  Jameson,  and 
Henry  Chorley,  decided  to  give  up  their  cottage  at 
Esher,  and  spend  two  or  three  years  at  Heidelberg. 
Letters  of  introduction  from  Mrs.  Jameson  gave  them 
the  entree  into  German  society,  which  they  found  more 
to  their  taste  than  that  of  their  native  land.  '  For  the 
sake  of  our  children,'  writes  Mary,  '  we  sought  German 
acquaintances,  we  read  German,  we  followed  German 
customs.  The  life  seemed  to  me  easier,  the  customs 
simpler  and  less  expensive  than  in  England.  There  was 
not  the  same  feverish  thirst  after  wealth  as  with  us ; 
there  was  more  calm  appreciation  of  nature,  of  music, 
of  social  enjoyment.'  In  their  home  on  the  Neckar,  the 
Howitts,  most  adaptable  of  couples,  found  new  pleasures 
and  new  amusements  with  each  season  of  the  year.  In 
the  spring  and  summer  they  explored  the  surrounding 
country,  wandered  through  the  deep  valleys  and  woods, 
where  the  grass  was  purple  with  bilberries,  visited  quaint, 
half-timbered  homesteads,  standing  in  the  midst  of 
ancient  orchards,  or  followed  the  swift-flowing  streams, 
on  whose  banks  the  peasant  girls  in  their  picturesque 
costumes  were  washing  and  drying  linen.  In  the  autumn 
the  whole  family  turned  out  on  the  first  day  of  the 
vintage,  and  worked  like  their  neighbours.  '  It  was 
like  something  Arcadian,'  wrote  Mary  when  recalling 
the  scene.  '  The  tubs  and  baskets  piled  up  with  enor- 
mous clusters,  the  men  and  women  carrying  them  away 
354 


WILLIAM    AND   MARY    HOWTTT 

on  their  heads  to  the  place  where  they  were  being 
crushed ;  the  laughter,  the  merriment,  the  feasting,  the 
firing — for  they  make  as  much  noise  as  they  can — all 
was  delightful,  to  say  nothing  of  the  masquerading  and 
dancing  in  the  evening,  which  we  saw,  though  we  did 
not  take  part  in  it.'  In  the  winter  the  strangers  were 
introduced  to  the  Christmas  Tree,  which  had  not  yet 
become  a  British  institution :  while  with  the  first  snow 
came  the  joys  of  sleighing,  when  wheel-barrows,  tubs, 
baskets,  everything  that  could  be  put  on  runners, 
were  turned  into  sledges,  and  the  boys  were  in  their 
glory. 

During  the  three  years  that  were  spent  at  Heidelberg, 
William  Howitt  wrote  his  Student  Life  in  Germany^ 
German  Experiences^  and  Rural  and  Domestic  Life  in 
Germany^  works  which  contain  a  great  deal  of  more 
or  less  valuable  information  about  the  country  and  the 
people,  presented  in  a  homely,  unpretentious  style. 
Mary  was  no  less  industrious,  having  struck  a  new 
literary  vein,  the  success  of  which  was  far  to  surpass 
her  modest  anticipations.  *  I  have  been  very  busy,'  she 
writes  in  1842,  *  translating  the  first  volume  of  a  charm- 
ing work  by  Frederica  Bremer,  a  Swedish  writer ;  and  if 
any  publisher  will  give  me  encouragement  to  go  on  with 
it,  I  will  soon  complete  the  work.  It  is  one  of  a  series 
of  stories  of  everyday  life  in  Sweden — a  beautiful  book, 
full  of  the  noblest  moral  lessons  for  every  man  and 
woman.'*  In  the  summer  of  1841  the  Hewitts,  accom- 
panied by  their  elder  daughter,  Anna,  made  a  long  tour 
through  Germany  and  Austria,  in  the  course  of  which 
they  collected  materials  for  fresh  works,  and  visited  the 
celebrities,  literary  and  artistic,  of  the  various  cities 
that  lay  in  their  route.      At  Stuttgart  they  called  on 

S55 


WILLIAM   AND   MARY   HOWITT 

Gustav  Schwab,  the  poet,  and  visited  Dannecker's 
studio ;  at  Tubingen  they  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Uhland,  and  at  Munich  that  of  Kaulbach,  then  at  the 
height  of  his  fame.  By  way  of  Vienna  and  Prague  they 
travelled  to  Dresden,  where,  through  the  good  offices  of 
Mrs.  Jameson,  they  were  received  by  Moritz  Retzsch, 
whose  Outlines  they  had  long  admired.  At  Berlin  they 
made  friends  with  Tieck,  on  whom  the  king  had 
bestowed  a  pension  and  a  house  at  Potsdam ;  while  at 
Weimar  they  were  entertained  by  Frau  von  Goethe, 
whose  son,  Wolfgang,  had  been  one  of  their  earliest 
acquaintances  at  Heidelberg.  This  interesting  tour  is 
described  at  length  in  the  Rural  and  Domestic  Life  of 
Germans/. 

Another  year  was  spent  at  Heidelberg,  but  the  diffi- 
culties of  arranging  the  business  details  of  their  work  at 
such  a  distance  from  publishers  and  editors,  brought 
the  industrious  couple  back  to  London  in  the  spring  of 
1843.  'On  our  return  to  England,'  writes  Mary,  '  I 
was  full  of  energy  and  hope.  Glowing  with  aspiration, 
and  in  enjoyment  of  great  domestic  happiness,  I  was 
anticipating  a  busy,  perhaps  overburdened,  but,  never- 
theless, congenial  life.  It  was  to  be  one  of  darkness, 
perplexity,  discouragement.'  The  Howitts  had  scarcely 
entered  into  possession  of  a  new  house  that  they  had 
taken  at  Clapton,  when  news  came  from  Heidelberg, 
where  the  elder  children  had  been  left  at  school,  that 
their  second  son,  Claude,  had  developed  alarming 
symptoms  of  disease  in  the  knee-joint.  It  was  known 
that  he  had  been  slightly  injured  in  play  a  few  weeks 
before,  but  no  danger  had  been  anticipated.  Mr.  Howitt 
at  once  set  out  for  Heidelberg,  and  returned  with  the 
invalid,  on  whose  case  Liston  was  consulted.  The  great 
356 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITr 

surgeon  counselled  amputation,  but  to  this  the  parents 
refused  their  consent,  except  as  a  last  resource.  Various 
less  heroic  modes  of  treatment  were  tried,  but  poor 
Claude  faded  away,  and  died  in  March,  1844,  aged  only 
ten  years  and  a  half.  This  was  the  heaviest  trial  that 
the  husband  and  wife  had  yet  experienced,  for  Claude 
had  been  a  boy  of  brilliant  promise,  whom  they  regarded 
as  the  flower  of  their  flock.  Only  a  few  months  before 
his  accident  his  mother  had  written  in  the  pride  of  her 
heart :  '  Claude  is  the  naughtiest  of  all  the  children,  and 
yet  the  most  gifted.  He  learns  anything  at  a  glance. 
Claude  is  born  to  be  fortunate ;  he  is  one  that  will  make 
the  family  distinguished  in  the  next  generation.  He  has 
an  extraordinary  faculty  for  telling  stories,  either  of  his 
own  invention  or  of  what  he  reads.' 

A  lesser  cause  of  trouble  and  anxiety  arose  out  of 
the  translation  of  Miss  Bremer's  novels.  *  When  we 
first  translated  The  Neighbours,''  writes  Mary,  'there 
was  not  a  house  in  London  that  would  undertake  its 
publication.  We  published  it  and  the  other  Bremer 
novels  at  our  own  risk,  but  such  became  the  rage  for 
them  that  our  translations  were  seized  by  a  publisher, 
altered,  and  reissued  as  new  ones.'  The  success  of  these 
books  was  said  to  be  greater  than  that  of  any  series 
since  the  first  ap|)earance  of  the  Waverley  novels.  Cheap 
editions  were  multiplied  in  the  United  States,  and  even 
the  boys  who  hawked  the  books  about  the  streets  were  to 
be  seen  deep  in  Tfie  Home  or  The  H,  Family,  In  a  letter 
to  her  sister  written  about  this  time,  Mary  expatiates  on 
the  annoyance  and  loss  caused  by  these  piracies.  *  It  is 
very  mortifying,'  she  observes,  *  because  no  one  knew  of 
these  Swedish  novels  till  we  introduced  them.  It 
obliges  us  to  hurry  in  all  we  do,  and  we  must  work 

367 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

almost  day  and  night  to  get  ours  out  in  order  that  we 
may  have  some  little  chance.  .  .  .  We  have  embarked 
a  great  deal  of  money  in  the  publication,  and  the  inter- 
ference of  the  upstart  London  publisher  is  most  annoy- 
ing. Mile.  Bremer,  however,  has  written  a  new  novel, 
and  sends  it  to  us  before  publication.  We  began  its 
translation  this  week,  and  hope  to  be  able  to  publish  it 
about  the  time  it  will  appear  in  Sweden  and  Germany.' 

In  addition  to  her  translating  work,  Mrs.  Howitt  was 
engaged  at  this  time  upon  a  series  of  little  books,  called 
Tales  for  the  People  and  their  Children^  which  had  been 
commissioned  by  a  cheap  publisher.  These  stories,  each 
of  which  illustrated  a  domestic  virtue,  were  punctually 
paid  for ;  and  though  they  were  never  advertised,  they 
passed  swiftly  through  innumerable  editions,  and  have 
been  popular  with  a  certain  public  down  to  quite  recent 
times.  Perhaps  the  most  attractive  is  the  Autobiography 
of  a  Child,  in  which  Mary  told  the  story  of  her  own 
early  days  in  her  pretty,  simple  style,  with  the  many 
little  quaint  touches  that  gave  all  her  juvenile  stories 
an  atmosphere  of  truth  and  reality.  Her  quick  sympathy 
with  young  people,  and  her  knowledge  of  what  most 
appealed  to  the  childish  mind,  was  probably  due  to  her 
vivid  remembrance  of  her  own  youthful  days,  and  to  her 
affectionate  study  of  the  '  little  ways  "*  of  her  own 
children.  Many  are  the  original  traits  and  sayings  that 
she  reports  to  her  sister,  more  especially  those  of  her 
youngest  boy,  Charlton,  who  had  inherited  his  parents' 
naturalistic  tastes  in  a  pronounced  form,  and  preferred 
the  Quakers'  meeting-house  to  any  other  church  or 
chapel,  because  there  was  a  dog-kennel  on  the  premises  ! 

About  a  year  after  her  return  to  England,  Mrs. 
Howitt  turned  her  attention  to  Danish  literature, 
358 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

finding  that,  with  her  knowledge  of  Swedish  and  German, 
the  language  presented  few  difficulties.  In  1845  she 
translated  Hans  Andersen's  Improvhatore,  greatly  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  author,  who  begged  that  she 
would  continue  to  translate  his  works,  till  he  was  as 
well  known  and  loved  in  England  as  he  was  on  the 
Continent.  Appreciation,  fame,  and  joy,  declared  the 
complacent  poet,  followed  his  footsteps  wherever  he 
went,  and  his  whole  life  was  full  of  sunshine,  like  a 
beautiful  fairy-tale.  Mary  translated  his  Onli/  a  Fiddler ; 
O.  T,y  or  Life  in  Denmark ;  Tlie  True  Story  of  My  Life ; 
and  several  of  the  Wonderful  Stories  Jbr  Children,  The 
Improvisatore  was  the  only  one  that  went  into  a  second 
edition,  the  other  works  scarcely  paying  the  cost  of 
publication.  Hans  Andersen,  however,  being  assured 
that  Mrs.  Howitt  was  making  a  fortune  of  the  trans- 
lations, came  to  England  in  1847  to  arrange  for  a 
share  of  the  profits.  Though  disappointed  in  his  hope 
of  gain,  he  begged  Mrs.  Howitt  to  translate  the  whole 
of  his  fairy-tales,  which  had  just  been  brought  out  in 
a  beautifully-illustrated  German  edition.  Much  to  her 
after  regret,  she  was  then  too  much  engrossed  by  other 
work  to  be  able  to  accede  to  his  proposal.  The  rela- 
tions between  Hans  Andersen  and  his  translator  were 
marred,  we  are  told,  by  the  extreme  sensitiveness  and 
egoism  of  the  Dane.  Mrs.  Howitt  narrates,  as  an 
example  of  his  childish  vanity,  the  following  little 
incident  which  occurred  during  his  visit  to  England  in 
the  summer  of  1847  : — 

*  Wc  had  taken  him,  as  a  pleasant  rural  experience, 
to  the  annual  hay-making  at  Hillside,  Highgate,  thus 
introducing  him  to  an  English  home,  full  of  poetry  and 
art,  sincerity,  and  affection.     The  ladies  of  Hillside — 

859 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

Miss  Mary  and  Margaret  Gillies,  the  one  an  embodi- 
ment of  peace  and  an  admirable  writer,  whose  talent, 
like  the  violet,  kept  in  the  shade ;  the  other,  the  warm- 
hearted painter — made  him  welcome.  .  .  .  Immediately 
after  our  arrival,  the  assembled  children,  loving  his 
delightful  fairy-tales,  clustered  round  him  in  the  hay- 
field,  and  watched  him  make  them  a  pretty  device  of 
flowers;  then,  feeling  somehow  that  the  stiff,  silent 
foreigner  was  not  kindred  to  themselves,  stole  off  to  an 
American,  Henry  Clarke  Wright,  whose  admirable  little 
book,  A  Kiss  for  a  Blow^  some  of  them  knew.  He, 
without  any  suggestion  of  condescension  or  difference 
of  age,  entered  heart  and  soul  into  their  glee,  laughed, 
shouted,  and  played  with  them,  thus  unconsciously 
evincing  the  gift  which  had  made  him  earlier  the  ex- 
clusive pastor  of  six  hundred  children  in  Boston.  Soon 
poor  Andersen,  perceiving  himself  neglected,  complained 
of  headache,  and  insisted  on  going  indoors,  whither 
Mary  Gillies  and  I,  both  anxious  to  efface  any  disagree- 
able impression,  accompanied  him ;  but  he  remained 
irritable  and  out  of  sorts.' 

It  was  in  1845  or  1846  that  the  Howitts  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Tennyson,  whose  poetry  they  had  long 
admired.  '  The  retiring  and  meditative  young  poet, 
Alfred  Tennyson,  visited  us,'  relates  Mary,  '  and  cheered 
our  seclusion  by  the  recitation  of  his  exquisite  poetry. 
He  spent  a  Sunday  night  at  our  house,  when  we  sat 
talking  together  till  three  in  the  morning.  All  the 
next  day  he  remained  with  us  in  constant  converse.  We 
seemed  to  have  known  him  for  years.  So  in  fact  we 
had,  for  his  poetry  was  himself.  He  hailed  all  attempts 
at  heralding  a  grander,  more  liberal  state  of  public 
opinion,  and  consequently  sweeter,  nobler  modes  of 
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WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

living.  He  wished  that  we  Englanders  could  dress  up 
our  affections  in  more  poetical  costume ;  real  warmth 
of  heart  would  gain  rather  than  lose  by  it.  As  it  was, 
our  manners  were  as  cold  as  the  walls  of  our  churches."* 
Another  new  friend  was  gained  through  William 
Howitt's  book,  Vmts  to  Remarkable  Places.  When  the 
work  was  announced  as  '  in  preparation,'  the  author 
received  a  letter,  signed  E.  C.  Gaskell,  drawing  his 
attention  to  a  beautiful  old  house,  Clopton  Hall,  near 
Stratford-on-Avon.  The  letter  described  in  such  admir- 
able style  the  writer's  visit  to  the  house  as  a  schoolgirl, 
that  William  wrote  to  suggest  that  she  ought  to  use 
her  pen  for  the  public  benefit.  This  timely  encourage- 
ment led  to  the  production  of  Man/  Barton,  the  first 
volume  of  which  was  sent  in  manuscript  for  Mr. 
Howitt's  verdict.  A  few  months  later  Mrs.  Gaskell 
came  as  a  guest  to  the  little  house  at  Clopton,  bringing 
with  her  the  completed  work. 

In  1846  William  Howitt  took  part  in  a  new  journal- 
istic venture,  his  wife,  as  usual,  sharing  his  labours  and 
anxieties.  He  became  first  contributor,  and  afterwards 
editor  and  part- proprietor  of  the  People\s  Jmirtialy  a 
cheap  weekly,  through  the  medium  of  which  he  hoped 
to  improve  the  moral  and  intellectual  condition  of  the 
working  classes.  *  The  bearing  of  its  contents^  wrote 
Mary,  in  answer  to  some  adverse  criticism  of  the  new 
paper,  *  is  love  to  God  and  man.  There  is  no  attempt 
to  set  the  poor  against  the  rich,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
to  induce  them  to  be  careful,  prudent,  sober  and  inde- 
pendent ;  above  all,  to  be  satisfie<l  to  be  workers,  and  to 
regard  labour  as  a  privilege  rather  than  as  a  penalty, 
which  is  quite  our  view  of  the  matter.^  The  combina- 
tion of  business  and  philanthropy  seldom  answers,  and 

361 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

the  Howitts,  despite  the  excellence  of  their  intentions, 
were  unlucky  in  their  newspaper  speculations.  At  the 
end  of  a  few  months  it  was  discovered  that  the  manager 
of  the  People's  Journal  kept  no  books,  and  that  the 
affairs  of  the  paper  were  in  hopeless  confusion.  William 
Howitt,  finding  himself  responsible  for  the  losses  on  the 
venture,  tried  to  cure  the  evil  by  a  hair  of  the  dog  that 
had  bitten  him.  He  withdrew  from  the  PeopWs  Journal^ 
and,  with  Samuel  Smiles  as  his  assistant,  started  a  rival 
paper  on  the  same  lines,  called  HowiWs  Journal.  But, 
as  Ebenezer  Elliott,  the  shrewd  old  Quaker,  remarked, 
apropos  of  the  apathy  of  the  working-class  public : 
'  Men  engaged  in  a  death  struggle  for  bread  will  pay 
for  amusement  when  they  will  not  for  instruction.  They 
woo  laughter  to  unscare  them,  that  they  may  forget 
their  perils,  their  wrongs,  and  their  oppressors.  If  you 
were  able  and  willing  to  fill  the  journal  with  fun,  it 
would  pay.'  The  failure  of  his  paper  spelt  ruin  to  its 
promoter ;  his  copyrights,  as  well  as  those  of  his  wife, 
were  sacrificed,  and  he  was  obliged  to  begin  the  world 
anew. 

The  Howitts  seem  to  have  kept  up  their  spirits 
bravely  under  this  reverse,  and  never  for  a  moment 
relaxed  in  their  untiring  industry.  They  moved  into  a 
small  house  in  Avenue  Road,  St.  John's  Wood,  and 
looked  around  them  for  new  subjects  upon  which  to 
exercise  their  well-worn  pens.  Mary  hoped  to  get 
employment  from  the  Religious  Tract  Society,  which 
had  invited  her  to  send  in  a  specimen  story,  but  she 
feared  that  her  work  would  hardly  be  considered  suffi- 
ciently orthodox,  though  she  had  introduced  one  of  the 
'  death- bed  scenes,'  which  were  then  in  so  much  request. 
As  she  anticipated,  the  story  was  returned  as  quite 
362 


I 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

unsuitable,  and  thereupon  she  writes  to  her  sister  in  some 
depression  :  '  Times  are  so  bad  that  publishers  will  not 
speculate  in  books  ;  and  when  I  have  finished  the  work 
I  am  now  engaged  on,  I  have  nothing  else  certain  to  go 
on  with.'  However,  writers  so  popular  with  the  public 
as  the  Howitts  were  not  likely  to  be  left  long  without 
employment.  Mary  seems  to  have  been  the  greater 
favourite  of  the  two,  and  the  vogue  of  her  volume  of 
collected  Poems  and  Ballads^  which  appeared  in  1847, 
strikes  the  modem  reader  with  amazement. 

Some  idea  of  the  estimation  in  which  she  was  then 
held  is  proved  by  Allan  Cunningham's  dictum  that 
'  Mary  Howitt  has  shown  herself  mistress  of  every  string 
of  the  minstrel's  lyre,  save  that  which  sounds  of  broil 
and  bloodshed.  There  is  more  of  the  old  ballad 
simplicity  in  her  composition  than  can  be  found  in 
the  strains  of  any  living  poet  besides."*  Another  critic 
compared  Mrs.  Howitt's  ballads  to  those  of  Lord 
Macaulay,  while  Mrs.  Alaric  Watts,  in  her  capacity 
of  Annual  editor,  wrote  to  assure  her  old  friend  and 
contributor  that,  *  In  thy  simplest  poetry  there  are  some- 
times tunis  so  exquisite  as  to  bring  the  tears  to  my  eyes. 
Thou  hast  as  much  poetry  in  thee  as  would  set  up  half- 
a-dozen  writers/  The  one  dissentient  voice  among 
admiring  contemporaries  is  that  of  Miss  Mitford,  who 
writes  in  1852  :  '  I  am  for  my  sins  so  fidgety  respecting 
style  that  I  have  the  bad  habit  of  expecting  a  book  that 
pretends  to  be  written  in  our  language  to  be  English ; 
therefore  I  cannot  read  Miss  Strickland,  or  the  Howitts, 
or  Carlylc,  or  Emerson,  or  the  serious  parts  of  Dickens.^ 
It  must  be  owned  that  the  Howitts  are  condemned  in 
fairly  good  company. 

The  work  of  both  husband  and   wife  suffered  from 

36d 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

the  inevitable  defects  of  self-education,  and  also  from 
the  narrowness  and  seclusion  of  their  early  lives.  Mary 
possessed  more  imagination  and  a  lighter  touch  than  her 
husband,  but  her  attempts  at  adult  fiction  were  ham- 
pered by  her  ignorance  of  the  world,  while  her  technique, 
both  in  prose  and  verse,  left  something  to  be  desired. 
It  is  evident  that  the  publishers  and  editors  of  the  period 
were  less  critical  than  Miss  Mitford,  for,  in  1848,  we 
find  that  Mrs.  Howitt  was  invited  to  write  the  opening 
volume  of  Bradshaw's  series  of  Railway  novels,  while  in 
February  1850,  came  a  request  from  Charles  Dickens 
for  contributions  to  Household  Words.  '  You  may  have 
seen,'  he  writes, '  the  first  dim  announcements  of  the  new, 
cheap  literary  journal  I  am  about  to  start.  Frankly,  I 
want  to  say  to  you  that  if  you  would  write  for  it,  you 
would  delight  me,  and  I  should  consider  myself  very 
fortunate  indeed  in  enlisting  your  services.  ...  I  hope 
any  connection  with  the  enterprise  would  be  satisfactory 
and  agreeable  to  you  in  all  respects,  as  I  should  most 
earnestly  endeavour  to  make  it.  If  I  wrote  a  book  I 
could  say  no  more  than  I  mean  to  suggest  to  you  in 
these  few  lines.  All  that  I  leave  unsaid,  I  leave  to 
your  generous  understanding.' 

The  Howitts  were  keenly  interested  in  the  gradual 
awakening  of  the  long-dormant,  artistic  instincts  of  the 
nation,  the  first  signs  of  which  became  faintly  visible 
about  the  end  of  the  forties.  '  Down  to  that  time,' 
observes  Mary,  'the  taste  of  the  English  people  had 
been  for  what  appealed  to  the  mind  rather  than  to  the 
eye,  and  the  general  public  were  almost  wholly  unedu- 
cated in  art.  By  1849  the  improvement  due  to  the 
exertions  of  the  Prince  Consort,  the  Society  of  Arts,  and 
other  powers  began  to  be  felt ;  while  a  wonderful  impulse 
664 


1 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

to  human  taste  and  ingenuity  was  being  given  in  the 
preparation  of  exhibits  for  the  World's  Fair/  The 
gentle  Quakeress  who,  in  her  youth,  had  modelled 
Wedgwood  figures  in  paper  pulp,  and  clapped  her 
clear-starching  to  the  rhythm  of  Lalla  Rookh^  was,  in 
middle  life,  one  of  the  staunchest  supporters  of  the  Pre- 
Raphaelite  Brethren,  and  that  at  a  time  when  the 
President  of  the  Royal  Academy  had  announced  his 
intention  of  hanging  no  more  of  their  *  outrageous  pro- 
ductions.' Through  their  friend,  Edward  La  Trobe 
Bateman,  the  Howitts  had  been  introduced  into  the  Pre- 
Raphaelite  circle,  and  familiarised  with  the  then  new 
and  startling  idea  that  artistic  principles  might  be 
can-ied  out  in  furniture  and  house-decoration.  Less 
than  three-quartei*s  of  a  century  before,  Mary's  father 
had  been  sternly  rebuked  by  her  grandfather  for  painting 
a  series  of  lines  in  black  and  grey  above  the  parlour  fire- 
place to  represent  a  cornice.  This  primitive  attempt  at 
decoration  was  regarded  as  a  sinful  indulgence  of  the 
lust  of  the  eye !  With  the  simple  charity  that  was 
characteristic  of  them,  William  and  Mary  saw  only  the 
best  side  of  their  new  friends,  the  shadows  of  Bohemian 
life  being  entirely  hidden  from  them.  *  Earnest  and 
severe  in  their  principles  of  art,'  observes  Mrs.  Howitt 
naively,  *  the  young  reformers  indulged  in  much  jocundity 
when  the  day's  work  was  done.  They  were  wont  to 
meet  at  ten,  cut  jokes,  talk  slang,  smoke,  read  poetry, 
and  discuss  art  till  three  a.m.' 

The  couple  had  by  this  time  renounced  their  member- 
ship of  the  Society  of  Friends,  but  they  had  not  joined 
any  other  religious  sect,  though  they  seem  to  have  been 
attracted  by  Unitarian  doctrines.  *  Merc  creeds,'  wrote 
Mary  to  her  sister,  *  matter  nothing  to  me.     I  could  go 

866 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

one  Sunday  to  the  Church  of  England,  another  to  a 
Catholic  chapel,  a  third  to  the  Unitarian,  and  so  on  ; 
and  in  each  of  them  find  my  heart  warmed  with 
Christian  love  to  my  fellow-creatures,  and  lifted  up  with 
gratitude  and  praise  to  God."  For  many  years  the  house 
in  Avenue  Road  was,  we  are  told,  a  meeting-place  for 
all  that  was  best  and  brightest  in  the  world  of  modern 
thought  and  art.  William  Howitt  was  always  ready  to 
lend  an  attentive  and  unbiassed  ear  to  the  newest 
theory,  or  even  the  newest  fad,  while  Mary  possessed 
in  the  fullest  degree  the  gift  of  companionableness, 
and  her  inexhaustible  sympathy  drew  from  others  an 
instant  confidence.  Her  arduous  literary  labours  never 
impaired  her  vigorous  powers  of  mind  or  body,  and  she 
often  wrote  till  late  into  the  night  without  appearing 
to  suffer  in  either  health  or  spirits.  She  is  described 
as  a  careful  and  energetic  housewife ;  indeed,  her 
husband  was  accustomed  to  say  that  he  would  challenge 
any  woman  who  never  wrote  a  line,  to  match  his 
own  good  woman  in  the  management  of  a  large  house- 
hold. 

In  1851  came  the  first  tidings  of  the  discovery  of 
gold  in  Australia,  and  nothing  was  talked  of  but  this 
new  Eldorado  and  the  wonderful  inducements  held  out 
to  emigrants.  William  Howitt,  who  felt  that  he 
needed  a  change  from  brain-work,  suddenly  resolved  on 
a  trip  with  his  two  sons  to  this  new  world,  where  he 
would  see  his  youngest  brother.  Dr.  Godfrey  Howitt, 
who  had  settled  at  Melbourne.  He  was  also  anxious 
to  ascertain  what  openings  in  the  country  there  might 
be  for  his  boys,  both  of  whom  had  active,  outdoor 
tastes,  which  there  seemed  little  chance  of  their  being 
able  to  gratify  in  England.  In  June,  1852,  the  three 
366 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

male  members  of  the  family,  accompanied  by  La  Trobe 
Bateman,  sailed  for  Australia,  while  Mary  and  her  two 
daughters,  the  elder  of  whom  had  just  returned  from 
a  year  in  Kaulbach's  studio  at  Munich,  moved  into 
a  cottage  called  the  Hermitage,  at  Highgate,  which 
belonged  to  Mr.  Bateman,  and  had  formerly  been 
occupied  by  Rossetti.  Here  they  lived  quietly  for 
upwards  of  two  years,  working  at  their  literary  or 
artistic  occupations,  and  seeing  a  few  intimate  friends. 
Mary  kept  her  husband  posted  up  in  the  events  that 
were  taking  place  in  England,  and  we  learn  from  her 
letters  what  were  the  chief  topics  of  town  talk  in  the 
early  fifties. 

'  Now,  I  must  think  over  what  news  there  is,**  she 
writes  in  April,  1853.  *  In  the  political  world,  the 
proposed  new  scheme  of  Property  and  Income  Tax, 
which  would  make  everybody  pay  something;  and  the 
proposal  for  paying  off  a  portion  of  the  National  Debt 
with  Australian  gold.  In  the  literary  world,  the  Inter- 
national Copyright,  which  some  expect  will  be  in  force  in 
three  months.  In  society  in  general,  the  strange  cir- 
cumstantial rumour  of  the  Queen''8  death,  which,  being  set 
afloat  on  Easter  Monday,  when  no  business  was  doing, 
was  not  the  offspring  of  the  money  market.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Charles  Kean,  who  were  here  the  other  day,  spoke 
of  it,  saying  truly  that  for  the  moment  it  seemed  to 
paralyse  the  very  heart  of  England.  .  .  .  [May  4th.] 
The  great  talk  now  is  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe  and  spirit- 
rapping,  both  of  which  have  arrived  in  England.  The 
universality  of  the  latter  phenomena  renders  it  a  curious 
study.  A  feeling  seems  pervading  all  classes  and  all 
sects  that  the  world  stands  on  the  brink  of  some  great 
spiritual  revelation.     It  meets  one  in  books,  in  ncws- 

367 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

papers,  on  the  lips  of  members  of  the  Church  of 
England,  Unitarians,  and  even  Freethinkers.  Poor 
old  Robert  Owen,  the  philanthropist,  has  been  con- 
verted, and  made  a  confession  of  faith  in  public.  One 
cannot  but  respect  a  man  who,  in  his  old  age,  has  the 
boldness  to  declare  himself  as  having  been  blinded  and 
mistaken  through  life.' 

In  December,  1854,  William  Howitt  returned  from 
his  travels  without  any  gold  in  his  pockets,  but  with 
the  materials  for  his  History  of  Discovery  in  Australia 
and  Nezo  Zealand.  Thanks  to  what  he  used  to  call  his 
four  great  doctors.  Temperance,  Exercise,  Good  Air, 
and  Good  Hours,  he  had  displayed  wonderful  powers  of 
activity  and  endurance  during  his  exploration  of  some 
almost  untracked  regions  of  the  new  world.  At  sixty 
years  of  age  he  had  marched  twenty  miles  a  day  under  a 
blazing  sun  for  weeks  at  a  time,  worked  at  digging  gold 
for  twelve  hours  a  day,  waded  through  rivers,  slept  under 
trees,  baked  his  own  bread,  washed  his  own  clothes,  and 
now  returned  in  the  pink  of  condition,  with  his  passion 
for  wandering  only  intensified  by  his  three  years  of  an 
adventurous  life.  The  family  experiences  were  diversified 
thenceforward  by  frequent  change  of  scene,  for  William 
was  always  ready  and  willing  to  start  off  at  a  moment's 
notice  to  the  mountains,  the  seaside,  or  the  Continent. 
But  whether  the  Howitts  were  at  home  or  abroad,  they 
continued  their  making  of  many  books,  so  that  it  be- 
comes difficult  for  the  biographer  to  keep  pace  with  their 
literary  output.  Together  or  separately  they  produced 
a  History  of  Scandinavian  Literature,  The  Homes  and 
Haunts  of  the  Poets,  a  Popular  History  of  England, 
which  was  published  in  weekly  parts,  a  Year-Book  of 
the  Country,  a  Popular  History  of  the  United  States, 
368 


WILLIAM   AND   MARY    HOWITT 

a  History  of  the  Supernatural^  the  Northern  Heights  of 
London,  and  an  abridged  edition  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison^ 
besides  several  tales  for  young  people,  and  contributions 
to  magazines  and  newspapers. 

Even  increasing  age  had  no  power  to  narrow  their 
point  of  view,  or  to  blunt  their  sympathy  with  every 
movement  that  seemed  to  make  for  the  relief  of  the 
oppressed,  the  welfare  of  the  nation,  or  the  advancement 
of  the  human  race.  Just  as  in  youth  they  had 
championed  the  cause  of  Catholic  Emancipation  and 
of  political  Reform,  so  in  later  years  we  find  them 
advocating  the  Repeal  of  the  Com  Laws,  taking  part 
in  the  Anti-Slavery  agitation,  working  for  improvement 
in  the  laws  that  affected  women  and  children,  and 
supporting  the  Bill  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to 
Animals.  A  more  debatable  subject — that  of  spirit- 
ualism— was  investigated  by  them  in  a  friendly  but 
impartial  spirit.  *  In  the  spring  of  1856,'  writes  Mrs. 
Howitt,  '  we  had  become  acquainted  with  several  most 
ardent  and  honest  spirit  mediums.  It  seemed  right 
to  my  husband  and  myself  to  try  and  understand 
the  nature  of  these  phenomena  in  which  our  new 
acquaintance  so  firmly  believed.  In  the  month  of 
April  I  was  invited  to  attend  a  stance  at  Professor  de 
Morgan's,  and  was  much  astonished  and  affected  by 
communications  purporting  to  come  to  me  from  my 
dear  son  Claude.  With  constant  prayer  for  enlighten- 
ment and  guidance,  we  experimented  at  home.  The 
teachings  that  seemed  given  us  from  the  spirit-world 
were  often  akin  to  those  of  the  gospel ;  at  other  times 
they  were  more  obviously  emanations  of  evil.  I  felt 
thankful  for  the  assurance  thus  gained  of  an  invisible 
world,  but  resolved  to  neglect  none  of  my  common 
2  a  369 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

duties  for  spiritualism."'  Among  the  Hewitts'*  fellow- 
converts  were  Robert  Chambers,  Robert  Owen,  the 
Carter  Halls  and  the  Alaric  Watts's ;  while  Sir  David 
Brewster  and  Lord  Brougham  were  earnest  inquirers 
into  these  forms  of  psychical  phenomena. 

In  1865  William  Howitt  was  granted  a  pension  by 
Government,  and  a  year  later  the  couple  moved  from  High- 
gate  to  a  cottage  called  the  Orchard,  near  their  former 
residence  at  Esher.  Of  their  four  surviving  children, 
only  Margaret,  the  youngest,  was  left  at  home.  Anna, 
already  the  author  of  a  very  interesting  book.  An  Art 
Student  at  Munich,  had,  as  her  mother  observes,  taken  her 
place  among  the  successful  artists  and  writers  of  her  day, 
'when,  in  the  spring  of  1856,  a  severe  private  censure 
of  one  of  her  oil-paintings  by  a  king  among  critics  so 
crushed  her  sensitive  nature,  as  to  make  her  yield  to  her 
bias  for  the  supernatural,  and  withdraw  from  the  arena 
of  the  fine  arts.'  In  1857  Anna  became  the  wife  of 
Alfred  Watts,  the  son  of  her  parents'  old  friends,  Alaric 
and  Zillah  Watts.  The  two  boys,  Alfred  and  Charlton, 
born  explorers  and  naturalists,  both  settled  in  Australia. 
Alfred,  early  in  the  sixties,  had  explored  the  district  of 
Lake  Torrens,  a  land  of  parched  deserts,  dry-water- 
courses, and  soda -springs,  whose  waters  effervesced 
tartaric  acid ;  and  had  opened  up  for  the  Victorian 
Government  the  mountainous  district  of  Gippsland, 
with  the  famous  gold-field  of  the  Crooked  River.  In 
1861  he  had  been  employed  to  head  the  relief-party 
that  went  in  search  of  the  discoverer,  Robert  O'Hara 
Burke,  and  his  companions,  and  a  year  later  he  brought 
back  the  remains  of  the  ill-fated  explorers  to  Melbourne 
for  public  burial.  Later  in  life  he  was  successfully 
employed  in  various  Government  enterprises,  and  pub- 
370 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

lished,  in  collaboration  with  a  friend,  a  learned  work 
on  the  aborigines  of  Australia. 

Charlton  Howitt,  the  younger  son,  after  five  years^ 
uncongenial  work  in  a  London  office,  emigrated  to 
Australia  in  1860.  His  quality  was  quickly  recognised 
by  the  Provincial  Government,  which,  in  1862,  appointed 
him  to  command  an  expedition  to  examine  the  rivers  in 
the  province  of  Canterbury,  with  a  view  to  ascertaining 
whether  they  contained  gold.  So  admirably  was  the 
work  accomplished  that,  on  his  return  to  Christchurch, 
he  was  intrusted  with  the  task  of  opening  up  communi- 
cations between  the  Canterbury  plains  and  the  newly- 
discovered  gold  and  coal  district  on  the  west  coast. 
*  This  duty  was  faithfully  performed,  under  constant 
hardships  and  discouragement,"*  relates  his  mother.  *  But 
a  few  miles  of  road  remained  to  be  cut,  when,  at  the 
end  of  June,  1863,  after  personally  rescuing  other 
pioneers  and  wanderers  from  drowning  and  starvation 
in  that  watery,  inhospitable  forest  region,  Charlton, 
with  two  of  his  men,  went  down  in  the  deep  waters  of 
Lake  Brunner;  a  fatal  accident  which  deprived  the 
Government  of  a  valued  servant,  and  saddened  the  hearts 
of  all  who  knew  him.'' 

After  four  peaceful  years  at  Esher,  the  Wanderbtsl^ 
that  gipsy  spirit,  which  not  even  the  bunlen  of  years 
could  tame,  took  possession  of  William  and  Mary 
once  more,  and  they  suddenly  decided  that  they  must 
see  Italy  before  they  died.  In  May,  1870,  they  let 
the  Orchard,  and,  aged  seventy-seven  and  seventy- 
one  rcs|)cctively,  set  out  on  their  last  long  flight  into 
the  world.  The  summer  was  8|)ent  on  tlie  Lake  of 
Lucerne,  where  the  old-world  couple  came  acroes  that 
modern   of  the    moderns,    Richard    Wagner,   and    his 

871 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

family.  By  way  of  the  Italian  Lakes  and  Venice  they 
travelled,  in  leisurely  fashion,  to  Rome,  where  they 
celebrated  their  golden  wedding  in  April,  1871.  The 
Eternal  City  threw  its  glamour  around  these  ancient 
pilgrims,  who  found  both  life  and  climate  exactly  suited 
to  the  needs  of  old  age.  '  I  prized  in  Rome,'  writes 
Mrs.  Howitt,  '  the  many  kind  and  sympathetic  friends 
that  were  given  to  us,  the  ease  of  social  existence,  the 
poetry,  the  classic  grace,  the  peculiar  and  deep  pathos 
diffused  around;  above  all,  the  stirring  and  affecting 
historic  memories.  .  .  .  From  the  period  of  arrival  in 
Rome,  I  may  truly  say  that  the  promise  in  Scripture, 
"  At  evening  time  there  shall  be  light,"  was,  in  our  case, 
fulfilled.' 

The  simple,  homely  life  of  the  aged  couple  continued 
unbroken  amid  their  new  surroundings.  William  in- 
terested himself  in  the  planting  of  Eucalyptus  in  the 
Campagna,  as  a  preventive  against  malaria,  and  had 
seeds  of  different  varieties  sent  over  from  Australia, 
which  he  presented  to  the  Trappist  monks  of  the  Tre 
Fontani.  He  helped  to  establish  a  society  for  the 
prevention  of  cruelty  to  animals,  and  struck  up  a 
friendship  with  the  gardeners  and  custodians  of  the 
Pincio,  to  whom  he  gave  expert  advice  on  the  subject 
of  the  creatures  under  their  charge.  The  summer 
months  were  always  spent  in  the  Tyrol,  where  the 
Howitts  had  permanent  quarters  in  an  old  mansion 
near  Bruneck,  called  Mayr-am-Hof.  Here  William 
was  able  to  indulge  in  his  favourite  occupation  of 
gardening.  He  dug  indefatigably  in  a  field  allotment 
with  his  English  spade,  a  unique  instrument  in  that 
land  of  clumsy  husbandry,  and  was  amazed  at  the  growth 
of  the  New  Zealand  spinach,  the  widespread  rhubarb, 
372 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

the  exuberant  tomatoes,  and  towering  spikes  of  Indian 
com.  Thanks  to  the  four  great  doctors  before  men- 
tioned, he  remained  hale  and  hearty  up  to  December, 
1 878,  in  which  month  he  celebrated  his  eighty-seventh 
birthday.  A  few  weeks  later  he  was  attacked  by 
bronchitis,  which,  owing  to  an  unsuspected  weakness 
of  the  heart,  he  was  unable  to  throw  off.  He  died 
in  his  house  on  the  Via  Sistina,  close  to  his  favourite 
Pincio,  on  March  3,  1879. 

Mrs.  Howitt  now  finally  gave  up  the  idea  of  return- 
ing to  end  her  days  in  England.  Her  husband  and 
companion  of  more  than  fifty  years  was  buried  in  the 
Protestant  Cemetery  at  Rome,  and  when  her  time  came, 
she  desired  to  be  laid  by  his  side.  The  grant  of  a  small 
pension  added  to  the  comfort  of  her  last  years,  and  was 
a  source  of  much  innocent  pride  and  gratification,  for, 
as  she  tells  her  daughter  Anna,  '  It  was  so  readily  given, 
so  kindly,  so  graciously,  for  my  literary  merits,  by  Lord 
Beaconsfield,  without  the  solicitation  or  interference  of 
any  friend  or  well-wisher."*  In  May,  1880,  she  writes  to 
a  friend  from  Meran  about  *a  project,  which  seems  to 
have  grown  up  in  a  wonderful  way  by  itself,  or  as  if  in- 
visible hands  had  been  arranging  it;  that  we  should 
have  a  little  home  of  our  own  im  heiligen  Land  Tirol. 
This  really  is  a  very  great  mercy,  seeing  that  the  Tyrol 
is  so  beautiful,  the  climate  so  beneficial  to  health,  and 
the  people,  taken  as  a  whole,  so  very  honest  and  devout. 
Our  little  nest  of  love,  which  we  shall  call  "  Marienruhe,'*'' 
will  be  perched  on  a  hill  with  beautiful  views,  surrounded 
by  a  small  garden.'  On  September  29,  1881,  Mrs. 
Howitt  and  her  daughter,  Margaret,  slept,  for  the  first 
time,  in  their  romantically-situated  now  home  near 
Meran. 

37b 


WILLIAM    AND   MARY    HOWITT 

At  Marienruhe,  the  greater  portion  of  the  last  seven 
years  of  Mary  Howitt's  life  was  spent  in  peace  and 
contentment.  Here  she  amused  herself  with  writing 
her  '  Reminiscences  "*  for  Good  Words,  which  were  after- 
wards incorporated  in  her  Autobiography.  Age  had  no 
power  to  blunt  her  interest  in  the  events  of  the  day, 
political  or  literary,  and  at  eighty-seven  we  find  her 
reading  with  keen  enjoyment  Froude's  Oceana  and 
Besant's  All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men,  books  that 
dealt  with  questions  which  she  and  her  husband  had 
had  at  heart  for  the  best  part  of  a  lifetime,  and  for 
which  they  had  worked  with  untiring  zeal.  Of  the  first 
she  writes  to  a  friend  :  '  We  much  approve  of  his 
(Froude's)  very  strong  desire  that  our  colonies  should, 
like  good,  faithful,  well-trained  children,  be  staunch  in 
love  and  service  to  old  Mother  England.  How  deeply 
we  feel  on  this  subject  I  cannot  tell  you ;  and  I  hope 
and  trust  that  you  join  strongly  in  this  truly  English 
sentiment."*  Of  the  second  she  writes  to  Mrs.  Leigh 
Smith :  '  I  am  more  interested  than  I  can  tell  you  in 
All  Sorts  and  Cojiditions  of  Men.  It  affects  me  like  the 
perfected  fruit  of  some  glorious  tree  which  my  dear 
husband  and  I  had  a  dim  dream  of  planting  more  than 
thirty  years  ago,  and  which  we  did,  in  our  ignorance 
and  incapacity,  attempt  to  plant  in  soil  not  properly 
prepared,  and  far  too  early  in  the  season.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  it  has  recalled  the  hopes  and  dreams 
of  a  time  which,  by  the  overruling  Providence  of  God, 
was  so  disastrous  to  us.  It  is  a  beautiful  essay  on  the 
dignity  of  labour.' 

The  last  few  years  of  Mary  Howitfs  life  were  sad- 
dened by  the  deaths  of  her  beloved  sister,  Anna,  and 
her  elder  daughter,  Mrs.  Watts,  but  such  blows  are 
374 


I 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

softened  for  aged  persons  by  the  consciousness  that  their 
own  race  is  nearly  run.  Mary  had,  moreover,  one  great 
spiritual  consolation  in  her  conversion,  at  the  age  of 
eighty-three,  to  the  doctrines  of  Roman  Catholicism 
In  spite  of  her  oft-repeated  protestations  against  the 
likelihood  of  her  *  going  over,"*  in  spite  of  her  declara- 
tion, openly  expressed  as  late  as  1871,  that  she  firmly 
believed  in  the  anti-Christianity  of  the  Papacy,  and  that 
she  and  her  husband  were  watching  with  interest  the 
progress  of  events  which,  they  trusted,  would  bring  about 
its  downfall,  Mrs.  Howitt  was  baptized  into  the  Roman 
Church  in  May,  1882.  Her  new  faith  was  a  source  of 
intense  happiness  to  the  naturally  religious  woman,  who 
had  found  no  refuge  in  any  sectarian  fold  since  her  renun- 
ciation of  her  childish  creed.  In  1888,  the  year  of  the 
Papal  Jubilee,  though  her  strength  was  already  failing, 
she  was  well  enough  to  join  the  deputation  of  English 
pilgrims,  who,  on  January  10,  were  presented  to  the 
Pope  by  the  Duke  of  Norfolk.  In  describing  the  scene, 
the  last  public  ceremony  in  which  she  took  part,  she 
writes  :  *  A  serene  happiness,  almost  joy,  filled  my  whole 
being  as  I  found  myself  on  my  knees  before  the  Vicar 
of  Christ.  My  wish  was  to  kiss  his  foot,  but  it  was 
withdrawn,  and  his  hand  given  to  me.  You  may  think 
with  what  fervour  I  kissed  the  ring.  In  the  meantime 
he  had  been  told  my  age  and  my  late  conversion.  His 
hands  were  laid  on  my  shoulders,  and,  again  and  again, 
his  right  hand  in  blessing  on  my  head,  whilst  he  spoke 
to  me  of  Paradise.' 

Having  thus  achieved  her  heart's  desire,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  last  tie  which  bound  the  aged  convert  to  earth 
was  broken.  A  few  days  later  she  was  attacked  by 
bronchitis,  and,  after  a  short  illness,   passed  away  in 

375 


WILLIAM  AND  MARY  HOWITT 

her  sleep  on  January  30,  1888,  having  nearly  com- 
pleted her  eighty-ninth  year.  To  the  last,  we  are  told, 
Mary  Howitt's  sympathy  was  as  warm,  her  intelligence 
as  keen  as  in  the  full  vigour  of  life,  while  her  rare 
physical  strength  and  pliant  temper  preserved  her  in 
unabated  enjoyment  of  existence  to  the  verge  of  ninety. 
Although  many  of  her  books  were  out  of  print  at  the 
time  of  her  death,  it  was  said  that  if  every  copy  had 
been  destroyed,  most  of  her  ballads  and  minor  poems 
could  have  been  collected  from  the  memories  of  her 
admirers,  who  had  them — very  literally — by  heart. 

William  and  Mary  Howitt,  it  may  be  observed  in  con- 
clusion, though  not  leaders,  were  brave  soldiers  in  the 
army  of  workers  for  humanity,  and  if  now  they  seem 
likely  to  share  the  common  lot  of  the  rank  and  file — 
oblivion — it  must  be  remembered  that  they  were  among 
those  favoured  of  the  gods  who  are  crowned  with  grati- 
tude, love,  and  admiration  by  their  contemporaries.  To 
them,  asleep  in  their  Roman  grave,  the  neglect  of  pos- 
terity brings  no  more  pain  than  the  homage  of  modern 
critics  brings  triumph  to  the  slighted  poet  who  shares 
their  last  resting-place. 


(P 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  Constable,  (late)  Printers  to  Her  Majesty 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


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